Fading Away
by SherryGabs
Summary: Gibbs's unpredictable moods and behavior has everyone worried. Then he disappears. Why? Will his team find him before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

**Fading Away**

By SherryGabs

Rated: M (Just to be safe as I'm not yet sure how far I will take certain things in later chapters; however, nothing will be extremely graphic. Also for occasional bad language.)

Summary: Gibbs's unpredictable moods and behavior has everyone worried. Then he disappears. Why? Will his team find him before it's too late?

Disclaimer: CBS and any other Powers-That-Be own the characters. I'm just borrowing them for a while.

Notes: This story takes place during season two just cuz I wanted to use Kate and Director Morrow in a story.

In later chapters, Gibbs may be completely out of character and may do things he will later deeply regret. Not sure just what yet. snicker

I've been working on this for a few months now… sloooowly. It's going to be quite long. I've got 10 chapters done so far and will post every couple of days or so.

**Many thanks to Dark Rolling Sea for being a terrific beta reader.**

***************

**Chapter 1**

_One week previous_

The man in the plumber's uniform looked around as he exited the house. Anyone from the neighborhood noticing him would only assume he'd been doing plumbing work by his uniform and the toolbox he was carrying. Of course, he _had_ been doing work on the plumbing; just not the kind that is usually done. And plumbers don't usually install audio and visual equipment either.

He casually walked down the driveway to the street where his van was parked. Anyone noticing the name of the plumbing company on the van might remember it, but it didn't matter. The plumbing company didn't actually exist.

The man smiled as he got in the van and removed his hat. A smile that many would cringe at if they noticed the look in his eyes that went along with it.

Now the wait begins.

***********

_Present_

Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo glanced over to the elevator before smirking and turning his eyes towards the brunette sitting across from him. Straw ready, he took careful aim and blew through the straw sending the spitball flying towards its intended target, hitting her in the head.

Kate looked up from her computer monitor, her brown eyes blazing. "Tony! I swear to God I am going to shoot you if you do that again!"

Tony grinned. "Are good Catholic girls allowed to swear to God, Kate? Isn't there a commandment or something about that?"

"When it comes to you _all_ commandments are out the window. There isn't a chance God would hold me responsible if I broke one or two of them on you!"

Tony's smile got even wider. "Does that mean we can commit adultery?"

Kate pierced him with her glower. "I was thinking more of the one about killing, Tony."

Neither one heard the ding of the elevator, but McGee did and he cleared his throat. "Uh, guys," he said in warning, nodding towards the elevator.

The three agents all immediately went back to their work when they saw their boss striding towards them, his usual large coffee in one hand and his coat laying over his other arm. They took furtive glances at him, trying to gauge his mood. Lately his moods were so irregular and unknown they didn't know what to expect, and it kept them on edge.

He actually had a pleasant look on his face this morning and they let themselves relax slightly.

"Got something in your hair, Agent Todd," he said as he walked by, without appearing to have even looked at her.

She picked the spitball out of her hair, throwing it in the wastebasket and glared at Tony, who snickered.

"DiNozzo, you might want to keep that straw," Gibbs stated as he put his coffee cup down and tossed his coat on the filing cabinet behind his chair. "You'll need it to eat through when Kate finally breaks your jaw."

It was Kate's turn to snicker when Tony's face showed fear.

McGee approached Gibbs's desk. "Uh, Boss," he started as Gibbs sat down. "I'm still trying to break through the encryption codes in the Walther's case. They're multilayered and it looks like it's going to take a while, probably even a couple of days."

Gibbs smiled up at him. "Don't worry 'bout it, Tim. Take as much time as you need."

Tim's face showed shock and confusion. _Did he just smile and say take my time? Yesterday afternoon he yelled at me for taking so long._

"B-But I thought --"

"The case is turning cold," Gibbs interrupted, taking a sip of his coffee. "We're not getting anywhere on it, so who cares?"

Now all three of the younger agents were staring at Gibbs. His attitude was way off his usual kilter. They gave each other confused glances while McGee went back to his desk.

They had noticed over the past couple of days that their team leader was acting differently than usual. They had worked with him long enough to know what his usual was and this was not his usual. His mood swings were unpredictable. Like this morning, he would at times act indifferent, even blasé, when it came to things that would normally make him impatient or angry. Then a little while later, he would blow up over minor things. These times were usually worse in the afternoons. But he had yet to let these odd behaviors effect his judgment on a case until now.

They had also observed that Gibbs would squirm in his chair, move things around on his desk or in his desk drawers and then forget where he laid something. The night before he had spent ten minutes looking for his car keys before going home. They ended up being in his coat pocket where they always were. He hadn't thought to look there and had cursed all the way to the elevator, taking out his frustration on the down button.

Kate took a closer look at Gibbs and saw that he looked tired. His eyes were a little bloodshot and his lower eyelids were getting a baggy look, like he wasn't getting enough sleep. She shot a look over to Tony, who shared her look of concern, but only shrugged his shoulders. They would let it go for now, but if things continued the way they were, maybe she would talk to Ducky to see if he had noticed anything.

***********

The morning drug on. The only active case they had was the Walther's case, but without much forensic evidence there wasn't much to do with it except wait for McGee to break the encryption codes. In the meantime, Tony and Kate were working on a couple of cold case files to fill in the time.

Gibbs was becoming more fidgety and agitated as the day wore on. He knew something wasn't right with him, but had no idea what it was. He usually didn't mind sitting for hours at a time, but now he only wanted to move. He'd already gone out four times for coffee. He even began wondering if he wasn't getting too much caffeine and maybe that was causing him stress. He switched to water. It didn't taste as good as his water from home, but it did quench his thirst. His mouth and throat seemed to be dry lately.

He didn't seem to notice that he would forget where he put things, or that his mind would wander and he'd forget what he had been working on when he became focused again.

_I need to get more sleep, _he thought to himself as he rubbed his tired eyes. But sleep had been a problem, too. He tossed and turned at night, not being able to completely relax, and only got intermittent periods of rest.

When Tony asked if he wanted some takeout for lunch, Gibbs refused, saying he wasn't hungry. Kate had reminded him that he hadn't eaten lunch the day before either. With a glare at her, he slowly walked to her desk, keeping eye contact. He took an apple from her desk, took a bite out of it, then dropped the remaining apple into her wastebasket.

"There. Are you happy?" he had practically growled while chewing.

Kate only nodded, afraid to say anything.

Now midafternoon, Gibbs couldn't stand to sit any longer. The others flinched when he suddenly stood up. "I'm going to the lab to see Abby!"

They all breathed a sigh of relief when he got on the elevator.

Entering the lab, Gibbs flicked off the blaring music with a bit more force than necessary.

"Hey!" Abby complained, turning to see who entered her domain, but smiled when she saw who it was. "Oh, hi, Gibbs."

Gibbs didn't smile back. "Tell me you have something.... about anything!"

Abby frowned at him, not liking his tone. "What? No Caf-Pow?" she asked brazenly, never really being afraid of the grumpy side of Gibbs. She hadn't seen much of the rest of the team that week, and had only seen Gibbs a few times, but could tell something had been off about him on his short visits.

Gibbs stepped into her personal space. "Show me you've actually done some work and I _might _consider it."

Abby turned back to her keyboard. "I am _always_ working, Gibbs," she said defensively. "If you're talking about the Walther's case, then no, I don't have anything else. There just wasn't enough forensic evidence to get anything useful."

"Then what the hell have you been doing all this time?!"

Now Abby was getting mad and she turned back around to face him, crossing her arms. "You are not the only I do work for, Gibbs! There are other teams besides you—"

She cocked her head as she studied his face. He didn't look well to her and her voice softened in concern. "Gibbs, are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine!"

"You don't look fine, you look exhausted." She reached out to try and hug Gibbs, but he pushed her away. He had never refused her hugs before and it hurt her and her voice reflected this. "Gibbs?"

"Just do something!" If he noticed the tears forming in her eyes he ignored them as he stormed out of her lab.

Abby stared after him, biting her quivering lower lip while her eyes stung with threatening tears.

**********

Gibbs had the beginnings of a raging headache when he stalked back into the bullpen. Stopping at McGee's desk he slammed his palms down on the desk.

"You got those codes broken yet?!"

McGee stared in frightened shock at the icy blue eyes staring back at him. "Uh, uh," he stammered. "No. You s-s-said this m-morning to t-take my t-time."

"Now why the hell would I say that, McStutter!" Gibbs yelled. "You realize, don't you, that this case is riding on breaking those codes. It's never taken you this long to do anything!"

As much as Tony loved picking on the probie, even he could see that McGee was about to have an anxiety attack and decided he better step in. Even if it meant facing Gibbs's wrath.

"Boss, you did say that," Tony said cautiously, stepping forward. "You said the case was going cold and it didn't matter."

Kate decided if Tony was brave enough to stand up for Tim, so should she and went to his side. Obviously Gibbs had forgotten what he had told McGee that morning. "He's right, Gibbs. Tim told you it would probably take a couple of more days and you said that was fine."

Gibbs's eyes narrowed as he approached Tony and Kate like a stalking panther. "I think I would remember if I had said that—which I didn't," he added sharply. "Do you two have anything else to add?" he challenged.

Both agents looked to each other for an answer.

"I said," Gibbs voice became loud enough to draw the attention of everyone on the floor. "Do you two have anything else to add!" His eyes were hard and his chest was heaving in anger.

Before either could respond, a stern voice was heard from the balcony above.

"Agent Gibbs!"

Gibbs looked up to see Director Morrow standing there. The anger didn't leave his eyes as he wondered how much the Director had heard.

Morrow had heard all of it and he was shocked to see this kind of behavior from Gibbs. Sure he'd known Gibbs to lose his temper and yell at his subordinates, but this went beyond what was called for. Giving Gibbs the benefit of any doubt and not wanting to tear a strip off him in front of the other agents, he chose a more diplomatic approach.

"I think it's been a long enough day. Why don't you all go home early and start fresh tomorrow." He looked hard at the team leader. "Get a good night's rest."

Gibbs knew that last bit was meant for him and he also knew he couldn't contradict the Director's decision. Shaking his head in annoyance, he strode to his desk, grabbed his gun and badge from the drawer and his coat.

"Be back here at 0700!" he barked at the others on his way to the elevator. He never turned around to notice the worried faces of his team.

Director Morrow sighed and went back into his office. Kate, Tim, and Tony huddled in the center of the bullpen.

"Something is very wrong with him," Tony said, running a hand through his hair.

"He _did _say that breaking the encryption coding wasn't a big deal, didn't he?" McGee questioned himself. He had never felt that kind of wrath from Gibbs before and it had frightened him badly.

"Yes, Tim, he did." Kate put an arm around his shoulder. "You didn't do anything wrong. Take it easy."

Tim nodded and sighed dejectedly.

"We need to keep an eye on Gibbs," Kate added.

"Yeah," Tony agreed. "If he gets any worse.... I don't know what we're gonna do."

************

Some of the anger had abated by the time Gibbs walked through his front door. The first thing he did was get some aspirin and a glass of water for his headache. The cold water felt good on his parched throat so he drank a second glass. He felt perspiration on his forehead and ran the cool glass over it.

He also felt uneasy and his nerve endings felt like they were crawling under his skin.

_Maybe I am coming down with something. _He pondered on that for a few seconds. _Nah… I don't get sick!_

He filled the coffee carafe with water from the faucet and poured it into the coffee maker, then added coffee grounds to the filter. Sitting at the table to wait for the coffee to finish brewing he thought back on the day while rubbing his temples. He knew he had let his temper get out of control, but for the life of him, couldn't figure out why. He'd have to make it up to them tomorrow.

After a few minutes Gibbs began to feel better. After a couple of cups of coffee, his nerves were much more relaxed and he felt less feverish. He took a third cup downstairs to the basement to work on his boat for a few hours. By the time he called it a night and went to bed, he'd forgotten about his day and his promise to be kinder to his team. He'd also forgotten to eat dinner.

************

The man laughed as he watched Gibbs trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in for the umpteenth time that hour. The cameras and microphones he had planted around the house were working perfectly. He saw the condition Gibbs had been in when he came home and noted how long it took Gibbs to calm down from his agitated state.

He'd been watching Gibbs at home off and on for the past week. Saw, as the days passed, how well his drug was working and knew Gibbs's addiction was becoming worse each day.

"It won't be long now, Jethro," the man touched the monitor over the prone figure on it. "Very, very soon."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Fading Away**

By SherryGabs

Rated: M (Just to be safe. See Chap. 1 for full details.)

Thanks to all of those who reviewed and put this on story alert. Much appreciated!

**Chapter 2**

When his alarm beeped relentlessly the next morning, it was all Gibbs could do to shut the thing up and drag himself out of bed. His mouth felt like he'd swallowed cotton, so he went into the bathroom and drank some water before brushing his teeth. He studied himself in the mirror and noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the pale gauntness of his face. He figured he'd only gotten about three hours of sleep the whole night.

After showering he felt somewhat more alive and went down to the kitchen to make coffee after getting dressed. The thought of eating breakfast wasn't too appealing, but the cramps in his stomach spoke otherwise, so he settled for a piece of dry toast. He felt pretty good after a cup of coffee and left for work.

Gibbs made his customary stop for more coffee and thought to grab a Caf-Pow for Abby. He arrived in the bullpen precisely at 0700 and found the others all at their desks already working. He was surprised to see DiNozzo there on time _and _actually working instead of goofing around.

"Morning all," he greeted amicably, putting his coat down and his gun in the desk drawer.

"Good morning, Gibbs," Kate offered hesitantly. She looked between Tony and Tim, all three wondering where the beast from the day before had gone. They could see he hadn't slept well and his face was thinning and not its usual healthy color. But, at least, he seemed to be in a good mood.

Tony decided to test the waters. "Everything all right, Boss? Feeling okay?"

Gibbs chuckled. "I feel great. Why wouldn't I?" He turned back towards the elevator, Caf-Pow in hand. "Going to the lab." He stopped by Tony's desk, thinking he should compliment Tony for actually getting some work done. But the only thing he could come up with was, "Nice shirt, DiNozzo. Is it new?"

This had come out of left field and Tony was floored. Gibbs never _ever _talked about clothes! _What the hell? _"Ah, no, Boss, not new."

"Oh, okay. Be back in a few minutes." Gibbs shrugged and walked away.

Tony just stared at the retreating figure, then turned back around. "Probie, pinch me! I'm stuck in a Twilight Zone nightmare."

"Do you think we should warn Abby?" Tim asked worriedly. "She called me last night and said Gibbs really tore into her yesterday. He even pushed her away when she tried to hug him."

"Oh my god!" Kate exclaimed. "And Abby's his favorite!" She chewed worriedly on her lip. "Too late to warn her now, he's almost there. At least he's in a good mood this morning."

"Yeah, but how long will that last?" Tony wondered aloud.

***********

"Morning, Abs," Gibbs greeted upon entering the lab and turning the music down a little.

Abby spun around and glared at him, not knowing whether to be angry about yesterday or concerned over his haggard appearance. She still stung from the day before and chose angry.

"Gibbs," she said shortly, turning back around to turn her machines on.

He laid the huge red drink next to her on the table, noticing she wouldn't meet his eyes. Usually she'd be talking 60 mph. He let the silence go on a minute before finally asking, "Something on your mind, Abs?"

_Is something on my mind?! _She looked disbelieving at him. He actually looked clueless as to why she'd be mad. She pointed to the Caf-Pow and asked spitefully, "Feeling guilty?"

Gibbs actually _was _clueless. He had no idea why she'd be mad. "What should I feel guilty about?"

Abby's mouth dropped open, she then closed it with a fierce determination. She was going to let him know how much he'd hurt her. "Yesterday afternoon, you came in here and yelled at me for no damn good reason!" She poked Gibbs in his chest. "You knew I wouldn't have anything for you, yet you came here and demanded something anyway!" She poked him again. "I can't get anything from nothing! _You_ need to bring me something before I can get _something._"

This time Gibbs grabbed her wrist before she could poke him again. "I don't know what the hell you are talking about, Abby! I wasn't even down here yesterday afternoon."

She couldn't believe it and yanked her hand back. "Yes you were, Gibbs! You didn't have a Caf-Pow for me, you yelled at me, and when I noticed you didn't look well I tried to give you a hug and you pushed me away!" She suddenly had tears in her eyes. "That was the worst part of all."

"Abbeeee," Gibbs was frustrated. He honestly didn't remember this, but he couldn't stand to see Abby cry. "Fine! If you say that's what happened, then okay, that's what happened." _I don't have three ex-wives for nothing._

Abby stared at him incredulously. This was so not like her silver-haired fox. She again, like yesterday, took in his physical appearance and wondered if he was sick. _Is it possible he doesn't remember?_

"Gibbs?" She hesitantly laid a hand on his arm. "Are you okay? You're not sick are you?"

He stepped back a pace, causing her hand to fall. "I am perfectly fine. What makes you think I would be ill?"

"You just look.... really tired."

"Yeah, I _am _tired," Gibbs nodded his head. "I'm tired of this conversation!" He turned and walked quickly out the door. He could her Abby call out to him, but refused to turn back around.

Abby wanted to scream. _Why was Gibbs acting like this? _When she had talked to Tim the night before, they both described their ordeals with their boss from that day. She was worried about him and needed to tell someone. She dialed Tim's extension number at his desk.

Before he could even identify himself Abby vented. "Timmy, I am _really _worried about Gibbs!" she started frantically. "He doesn't remember coming down here yesterday and yelling at me. He had no idea!" She turned circles on the floor from nervous energy. "We have got to do something!"

"He doesn't remember? Oh boy!" Tim looked over to Tony with large, nervous eyes.

Tony had listened to Tim's part of the conversation. "What McGoo?"

"Gibbs," Tim answered. "Abby says he doesn't remember yelling at her yesterday."

"Oh boy," Tony reiterated Tim's response to the news.

"He doesn't _remember_?" Kate asked surprised.

"Abby, I'll call you back." Tim laid the phone down.

"McGee, don't hang up on me!" Abby yelled, but it was too late. She slammed the phone down. Needing comfort, she grabbed Bert and squeezed hard.

Meanwhile, Gibbs was in the elevator thinking. He had flipped the switch to stop it between floors. He ran his hands through his hair as he tried to recall the day before. He realized with dread that there were blank spots. He couldn't remember being in Abby's lab. He couldn't remember what work he had done right before lunch. _Hell, I don't even remember leaving the damn building, or at what time! What the hell's wrong with me?_

It was all too much to think about here and now. He had to get his act together and get back to the squad room. He'd watch himself carefully today and hopefully avoid any more memory lapses. Shaking himself and taking a deep breath, Gibbs hit the switch to continue on upward.

When the elevator doors opened, Gibbs was looking down and didn't notice the rest of his team scramble to get back to their desks. They all pretended to be engrossed in what they were doing as Gibbs sat down at his desk and grabbed his coffee cup. He downed half of it before setting it back down and turned his computer on.

He did his best to appear normal and went on as if it were just another ordinary day. "Agents Todd and DiNozzo.... What are you working on?"

"Just cold cases, Gibbs," Kate answered, carefully eyeing him. "I think I may have an idea for a lead from Petty Officer William Petro's case from two years ago. I just need to get in touch with a friend from the Treasury."

"Okay. Follow up on it this morning. DiNozzo?"

"Yes.... Boss.... I've, uh, been meticulously going through a couple of old files and was able to find uh," he cringed, "absolutely nothing."

"Keep at it," was all Gibbs had to say. Tony almost wilted at the reprieve; he'd expected a blow up.

"McGee?"

Tim had been hoping Gibbs wouldn't notice him. "Still trying to break the encryption codes," he said wearily.

Gibbs had up until now kept his eyes downward on his monitor, avoiding having to look at his people. But at McGee's tone he looked up and noticed how stressed out the kid seemed and felt sorry for him.

"Take a break from it. Send it down to Abby and let her have a crack at it. Might help to have a pair of fresh eyes. Then look into some cold files or do some computer update thingamajigs."

Tim looked relieved. He thought he'd go insane if he had to work on this the rest of the day. "Sure thing, Boss."

Gibbs finished off the rest of his coffee, tossed the empty cup away and got started on his own never-ending workload. About an hour later, lack of sleep was making its ugly appearance and he decided to go for coffee. He came back just a short time later with a cup of coffee in one hand and a large cup of ice water in the other since coffee really didn't do much to quench his thirst. Gibbs usually didn't drink the water offered at NCIS because he thought it had too much chlorine and didn't taste as good as his water from home. But he would make do with it.

Kate approached his desk. "Gibbs, I'm going now to meet my friend at the Treasury. I'll be back before lunch. Okay?"

"Yeah, fine," he acknowledged, glancing up at her. When she turned away, he went back to his work.

Time passed and his brain felt like it was fogged in. He started to get that restless feeling again and began rearranging items on his desk and tapping his right foot. Taking a sip of water he looked across at Tim's, then DiNozzo's desks, seeing them working quietly. He did a double take when he noticed Kate's empty desk.

"Where's Todd?" he asked.

Tony looked up confused. "She went to see her friend at the Treasury. Left a couple of hours ago, but should be back soon."

"Would have been nice to have been informed," Gibbs said acerbically.

_Uh-oh, _Tony thought. _Why do I have to be the one to tell him he forgot. _"She told you before she left, Boss." Tony cleared his throat nervously. "You said it was fine."

"She did n—" Gibbs started to bark back, but stopped himself. _Am I forgetting again? _He was certain she hadn't said anything, but had to second guess himself.

"Never mind!"

Gibbs looked at his computer monitor to find where he'd left off, then began looking for the paperwork that went with it. Not finding it on top of the other papers and folders littering his desk top, he rummaged through everything becoming more agitated the longer it took.

Tim and Tony both watched, wondering if they should help or stay out of the way of the steam train known as Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Luckily, they saw he finally found what he was looking for by the way he slammed it down in front of himself. Tony breathed a sigh of relief as his phone rang.

"DiNozzo," he answered with a sigh.

"Tony? It's Kate. Everything okay?" She'd heard the sigh.

Tony turned his chair around facing the wall behind him and spoke quietly. "We just barely avoided a Gibbs tantrum, that's all. He'd forgotten you'd left and then couldn't find something that he'd been working on only a moment before."

"He in a bad mood again?"

"Looks that way," Tony said with a bit of dread.

"Well, I did get something useful this morning, so maybe that'll cheer him up."

"It better be _real _good then," Tony chuckled.

"Well, I don't know about that," Kate sighed. "Anyways, I thought I'd stop at the deli on the way back and bring lunch."

"As long as it doesn't include the words 'tofu' or 'veggie wrap' anything's good for me." Tony smiled as he imagined Kate rolling her eyes.

"Fine! Ask the others what they want."

Tony turned his chair back around. "Probie, what do you want from the deli? Kate's making a stop."

"I brought lunch from home today." Tim looked over. "Tell her thanks anyway."

"Boss? Something from the deli?"

"Coffee," Gibbs answered shortly. His stomach churned at the thought of food. Even though he knew a little food might make it feel better, he just didn't want any.

Tony just shook his head knowing how Kate would react. "Nothing for Probie and Gibbs just wants coffee."

"Tony, this will be the third day in a row he hasn't eaten lunch!" Kate was exasperated.

Tony turned his chair back around. "I know that."

"I'm bringing him back something anyway. Who knows if he's even eating at home. I'll shove it down his throat if I have to!" Kate fumed.

"I'd like to see that," Tony laughed. "Then I'll be sure and bring flowers to your funeral."

"Hmph! Goodbye, Tony."

Forty-five minutes later Kate came in with a bag and a drink carrier with three drinks. She handed Tony his lunch and put her own on her desk. She took the last sandwich and cup over to Gibbs's desk.

"I know you said you didn't want anything, Gibbs," she said laying the items down in front of him, "but you _have _to eat _something_. It's just turkey and cheese; not a single vegetable on it, since I know you're picky about those things."

Both Tony and Tim watched in morbid fascination as Gibbs stared at the sandwich, then up to Kate, whose expression was apprehensive.

"Please?" she begged.

Gibbs really wanted to do nothing more than throw the sandwich in the trash and tell Kate to mind her own damn business. But when she said 'please', it tempered him down a bit. He decided to appease her, even if it was just to shut her up.

With a sigh of resignation, he unwrapped the sandwich and took a small bite. After another nibble, Kate seemed satisfied and went back to her own desk, shooting a smirk at her two male counterparts. Tim gave her a thumbs up while Tony looked impressed.

Gibbs choked down half the sandwich before finally giving up on it. His stomach just couldn't take any more. He rewrapped the rest and threw it in his wastebasket. He was feeling antsy and wished there was something that could get him away from his desk, but there was no good reason for him to run down to the lab or autopsy. He didn't particularly want to see Ducky anyway. As soon as the doctor saw him, he knew Ducky would want to examine him. He knew he was beginning to look like death warmed over.

A little while later he felt like he could climb the walls. Kate had told him what she'd learned from her Treasury friend, but whatever follow-up to be done was her responsibility. He'd already gone for more water and coffee so had no excuse to leave the floor. His skin felt like it was crawling and it was all he could do to not rub his body with his hands to try to soothe that feeling.

He nearly jumped when his phone rang. "Yeah, Gibbs!"

He wrote down the address as it was given to him and hung up. _Finally! Something to get me out of here!_

"Gear up! Dead marine."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Fading Away**

By SherryGabs

Rated: M (Just to be safe. See Chap. 1 for full details.)

Many, many thanks to STLFAN, Hawkeye, Dreamcatcher, and Moonlight. Your reviews are greatly appreciated.

**Chapter 3**

What should have been an easy on-scene investigation turned out to be pretty much a fiasco.

When Team Gibbs arrived on the scene, they discovered that an inexperienced local patrolman had inadvertently trampled through the crime scene. Gibbs started ripping into the young officer, who stood shaking and unable to speak, about standard operating procedures and proper protocols.

Meanwhile, Ducky and his young assistant Jimmy Palmer had arrived and began their cursory examination of the body. It was obvious within minutes that the man's death was most likely by his own hand.

Moments later, the captain of the young patrolman arrived and started arguing with Gibbs about mistreating his people. The shouting between the two was enough to draw quite a crowd in the neighborhood park. Not to mention the TV news crew that had shown up.

Kate was searching for possible evidence on the ground while Tony took photos of the area. Tim was questioning the woman who had found the body in a remote area of the park behind some bushes. They shot worried glances over towards Gibbs and the captain while the two argued practically nose-to-nose.

"I have a feeling Gibbs is going to wind up on the 6:00 news tonight if it's a slow news day," Tony said, pointing his camera at Kate and taking a picture of her frown.

"Think we should step in?" she asked.

"Not if you value your safety, Katelyn," Ducky spoke up. "I don't think he would strike an old-timer like me, however."

"Wouldn't be too sure of that, Duck," Tony warned as the ME passed him.

Ducky approached the red-faced pair just as Gibbs shouted at the police captain, "I don't give a flying fuck what you tell my director! You can go to hell, flatfoot!"

"Jethro, that's enough!" Ducky said sternly, taking hold of Gibbs's arm, trying to pull him away.

"Let go, Duck!" Gibbs shot him a warning glare and yanked his arm back.

Ducky bravely got closer and made eye contact with Gibbs, knowing the younger man wouldn't really hurt him. "You are making a spectacle of yourself and NCIS in front of a news camera," he stated quietly for only Gibbs to hear and tilting his head toward the recording camera.

Gibbs looked over and saw the news team and his eyes narrowed. He was about to go over and give them a piece of his mind, but the doctor grabbed his arm again, holding him back.

"Don't make things worse than they are, Jethro!" Ducky warned softly. "You need to calm down."

Gibbs closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. His body felt like molten lava flowing from an erupted volcano and his head was throbbing. He knew he needed to curb his desire to throttle someone and get his mind back on his job.

Ducky gave him a minute, studying Gibbs's face worriedly. "I have a preliminary report if you are ready to hear it."

"All right," Gibbs said, trying to shake off the effects from the argument with the captain. He struggled with this as he stalked over to the dead marine lying on the ground.

Ducky sighed and looked over to the two police officers, hoping to repair the damage. "I am sorry about that. He must be having a bad day."

"Oh, he'll be having a much worse day in a little while!" the captain threatened as he grabbed the young officer and pulled him away.

Ducky shook his head and said to himself. "Jethro, your temper has cost you this time."

The ME noticed Tony and Kate giving Gibbs a wide berth as he approached the body. He quickly made his way over before Gibbs could scare poor Palmer. _The boy is nervous enough as it is._

"Well?" Gibbs asked when Ducky caught up with him.

"Yes, well, the young man has been deceased since approximately 0400 this morning." Ducky knelt down and pointed to the head wound. "The bullet entered here in his right temple and exited over here." He pointed to the other side of the head, over the marine's left ear.

"Yeah, Duck, that's kinda obvious by the orange-size hole on the side of his head!" Gibbs said testily.

Ducky patiently ignored him and continued. "From the angle of the shot and an instant GSR test on his right hand, I'd wager he shot himself."

"Gun?"

"9-mil, already bagged."

"Anything else?" Gibbs had been hoping for a more drawn out investigation to keep them busy, but it didn't look promising.

Jimmy handed him a wallet. "His name's Sgt. Brian White, 31 years old. Lived in Norfolk."

Ducky stood back up. "We will do a more thorough examination when we get him back, of course. But that is my finding at the moment. Let's get him bagged, Mr. Palmer."

Gibbs left them to their task and called Kate over, handing her the wallet. "Get a background on him, see if he has family. DiNozzo! Help McGee get witness statements."

"On it, Boss!" Tony called.

Gibbs paced back and forth impatiently. He noticed the reporter from the news crew trying to push her way towards him, but two patrolman were holding her back behind the yellow police tape. He never had a tolerance for news people sticking their noses into his investigations and the mood he was in at the moment would not bode well for the woman at all.

After getting the body into the van, Ducky looked at Gibbs feeling the need to talk to the man. The week had been slow and he hadn't seen Gibbs in a few days. What he was seeing now concerned him. His friend looked ill and shaky.

"Jimmy, wait in the van. I need to speak to Gibbs."

"Yes, Doctor Mallard." _Better you than me. Haven't seen Gibbs this irate before._

"Jethro!" Ducky called, getting Gibbs's attention as he approached. "I want to speak with you."

"What is it, Duck?" Gibbs could feel his pulse pounding in his brain and didn't feel like dealing with Ducky's questions right then.

"Don't you think you were a bit hard on that young officer? There really wasn't a crime scene to compromise, now was there?"

"He was careless and incompetent and needs to learn how to approach—" Gibbs started ranting, but Ducky cut him off.

"I'm just saying that you could have been a bit more tactful about it instead of terrifying the lad."

"Ah geez, Ducky, don't start!"

"Has something happened today to make you such an insufferable —"

"Enough, Doctor!"

Patience coming to an end, Ducky stood his full height, which only made it up to Gibbs's shoulders and eyed him carefully. "Jethro, you do not look well. Something is obviously wrong with you and I think it is effecting your performance. I want you down in autopsy before the end of the day so I can give you a check-up."

Gibbs shook his head. "Not gonna happen."

"I can make it an official order. I do have the authority you know." Ducky threatened coolly.

"You just try." Gibbs eyes were ice, staring down at the doctor before he walked away towards the parking lot where their truck was. Deep down he knew Ducky was only wanting to help him. He knew he wasn't all right, maybe even sick, but his stubborn pride wouldn't let him admit he _needed _help. He hated showing weakness. His parched throat was a constant reminder. _Damn, I wish I'd brought water!_

Ducky eyes followed Gibbs until the man opened the back of the truck and stepped in. Tim, Kate, and Tony joined the doctor.

"We're worried about him, too, Ducky." Kate told him.

"How long has he been like this, Katelyn?"

"A few days." Kate figured it was time to come through with everything. "He's been more of a grumpy, pain-in-the-ass bastard than usual and not eating much of anything."

"Yeah, and he gets fidgety and can't sit still," Tim added.

"Not to mention losing things and forgetting conversations he's had." Tony thought a moment, remembering his Baltimore police days and his short time in Narcotics. "You know, Doc, these symptoms are starting to sound familiar."

"Yes, Anthony, they are," Ducky said slowly.

"What do you mean?" Tim asked confused.

"They sound like withdrawal symptoms," Ducky said shaking his head, "but Jethro is as anti-drug as they come. Plus a man his age usually doesn't start using drugs just for the heck of it. Has he quit drinking coffee?"

"Oh god, no!" Kate snorted. "That's about all he's getting in, that and a lot of water."

"So, thirsty, too," Ducky rubbed his chin in thought. "Some alcoholics will drink other liquids to compensate the need to drink _something_ when they don't have alcohol available. Has he had slurred speech or acted otherwise tipsy?"

"No. Not at all," Tony said. "I haven't smelled any booze on him."

"Me either." Then Tim remembered Gibbs's behavior the past two mornings. "He seems to be in a better mood in the mornings, then gets worse as the day goes on."

Kate raised her index finger. "That's right. Which is weird since he looks like he's not getting enough sleep. You'd think he'd be grouchier in the morning."

"What do you think we oughtta do, Ducky?" Tony asked.

Ducky looked towards the team's truck, but didn't see Jethro. "Well, you three are going to get back to work before he comes back and sees our little huddle. I'm going back to NCIS and start the autopsy on our dead marine."

"What about Gibbs?" Tim wondered.

"Special Agent Gibbs is going to report to my autopsy today for a thorough examination." Ducky smiled devilishly. "Even if I have to go through Director Morrow to do it."

"I have a feeling that is exactly what it's going to take," Kate sighed.

**************

It didn't take long for the team to finish their on-scene work. The woman who found the body really wasn't of any help, and there were no witnesses to the shooting. None of the residents in the neighborhood had heard a shot in the middle of the night while they slept. There were no other footprints besides the marine's and the young police officer, and no other evidence suggesting there had been anyone else there.

It was nearing late afternoon when the Team arrived back to the naval yard. Kate sat down and immediately began background research on Brian White. Tony would download and log the photos while Tim would find financial and phone records of the dead man. Even if it was an apparent suicide, they still needed to be thorough as if it was a homicide.

Gibbs had stopped for a long drink of water on his way in and had just sat down when his phone rang. Expecting it to be Ducky with his report he was a little surprised to hear Morrow's voice.

"Turn on channel 5 news, Jethro," the director told him and hung up.

"Now what?" Gibbs muttered, going to the plasma television and using the remote to tune in the right channel.

The news station thought waiting till 6:00 wasn't good enough and had decided to interrupt the regular programming with a news alert.

Gibbs groaned when he saw the footage of the park, at first only of the legs of the dead marine and the crowd of people. He had tuned out what the reporter was saying until the camera did a close up of him in a heated argument with the police captain. The microphone had picked up every word, bleeping out several of the words being tossed back and forth. The footage ended with Ducky pulling Gibbs away. He turned the TV off before the reporter could continue with her commentary.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and slumped his shoulders, knowing he was in trouble.

"You gave it to him good, Boss!" Tony was suddenly beside him smiling. The smile faded slowly at Gibbs glare.

"Agent Gibbs!"

Gibbs looked up to see a not happy Director Morrow standing on the balcony and gesturing for the agent to come up.

"Goddammit! I knew I should have chased that crew away," he muttered walking towards the stairs. He felt the director's glare on him the entire way up the stairs, then boring into his back as he passed him going towards the man's office.

Director Morrow was never one to yell. He'd rather use quiet intimidation to get his point across. And Gibbs got the message loud and clear. He stood at attention as the director stood only inches from him and pointed out things like relations between federal agencies and local police authorities. How his behavior would be a black eye to NCIS and public relations. And this was not the way a senior agent should behave in front of junior agents; he should be setting a better example.

"That same captain called a short time ago and it was all I could do to talk him out of filing a formal complaint! Thanks to you, I have to buy ten tickets to the policeman's ball off of him!"

"Well, you are a good dancer," Gibbs muttered sarcastically under his breath.

"_What _did you just say?!" Morrow's angry voice rose a couple of octaves.

"Look—" Gibbs couldn't stand still there any longer. He turned and started pacing quickly back and forth, waving his arms in frustration. "That captain came there looking for a fight. That damn news crew shouldn't have been allowed there in the first place—"

"Ever hear of 'freedom of the press'?" Morrow pointed out.

"I don't care!" Gibbs yelled, then growled when he couldn't think of anything to defend his actions. _I need to get out of here._

"I'll pay for the damn tickets. All right?"

"No. I'll just turn in an expenditure and say it's for interagency relations." There was new mirth in the director's eyes. "I have something else in mind as punishment."

"What? Suspension?" Gibbs couldn't believe it. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"No, not suspension." Director Morrow went around his desk and sat down. "I had another phone call this afternoon. From Dr. Mallard."

Gibbs frowned at him sharply. _Ducky wouldn't have?_

_Oh yes, he would, Jethro. _Morrow could see the question burning in Gibbs's eyes. "He expressed his concerns about your health and well-being as of late and your refusal to have him examine you. From what I see in front of me and from your attitude and behavior the past couple of days, I have to agree with him."

"I am _fine_! I don't need him to—"

"Agent Gibbs!" Morrow's inflection stopped Gibbs's dead. "I have had enough of your insubordination for one day. You will report to Dr. Mallard right now. If I find out you didn't, you _will_ be suspended—without pay—until you do."

Gibbs was about to protest again, but the director raised his hand to silence him.

"Now."

Jethro knew he had lost this fight. Shaking his head, he stormed out the door and let it slam shut behind him. His fast, angry pace took him across the floor to the elevator where he slammed the down button. When it didn't open right away he kicked the door hard.

"Come on you piece of metal crap!"

The three agents down below all looked up when they heard the noise, just in time to see him kick it again. The doors seemed to get the message and opened finally.

"Whoa! Glad I'm not that door," Tony winced.

"Guess Boss got the message from Ducky," Tim looked apprehensive. "I feel sorry for the doctor."

Kate fingered the cross hanging from her neck. "Let's just hope Ducky can find out what's wrong. I really hate seeing Gibbs like this."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Fading Away**

By SherryGabs

Rated: M (Just to be safe. See Chap. 1 for full details.)

**Thanks to Dark Rolling Sea for her fine beta reading!**

Many thanks to those who put me on story alert and these fine folk for reviewing: STLFAN, Moonlight, and louise. Much appreciated.

**Chapter 4**

Palmer flinched so much he dropped the liver he'd been holding onto the floor when Gibbs came bursting through the door, his voice booming.

"Let's just get this the hell over with!" He removed his sport coat, throwing it on one of the tables. He crossed his arms and let his eyes burn into the doctor.

Ducky laid his scalpel down and removed his mask. "Ah, I take it you've seen the director."

"Dirty pool, Duck!"

"It worked, did it not? You _are_ here."

Jimmy's confused eyes darted between the two men as he picked the slippery liver up and put it in the stainless steel bowl to be weighed.

"Mr. Palmer, you may leave for the day. I'll finish this later." Ducky removed his bloody gloves and surgical gown.

Jimmy couldn't have been more happy as he hastily removed his garb and practically ran out the door without a word.

Putting on a fresh pair of gloves, Ducky patiently made his way over to Gibbs. "Firstly, I am ruling Sgt. White's demise a suicide. There is nothing to suggest foul play of any kind and he was otherwise healthy."

Gibbs didn't say anything, just continued to think unholy thoughts at the doctor.

A slight smile upturned his lips as he studied Gibbs. "You can plan my own demise as much as you like, Jethro. I did what I thought was necessary. It was that or have security drag you down here in handcuffs. Please remove your outer shirt and sit up on the table."

Gibbs did as he was told, but not without making his objections known by slamming the shirt down over his jacket.

Ducky spoke as he gathered what he would need. "You know, Jethro, despite the gruff, bad temper demeanor you like to show everyone, the people you work with... your friends... _do _care about you and are concerned when they see you are hurting in some way."

"The only pain I have is the headache that all of my _friends _are causing."

"I have spoken to your agents to get their observations of you and I can tell you that you have them worried and scared." He didn't miss the 'hmph' from Gibbs.

"Is it so hard to imagine that people care about you, Jethro?" Ducky wrapped the blood pressure cuff around Gibbs's arm and pumped the bulb.

Gibbs wanted to retort, but a little tingling of guilt began creeping its way through him. _I don't want them to worry. And, hell, I'm scared myself!_

Ducky frowned at the blood pressure reading. He removed the cuff and felt Gibbs's wrist for his pulse rate, noticing the slight tremor in the hand.

"You're hypertensive and your pulse is a bit fast. That could be a cause for your headache." He put his stethoscope on and listened to Jethro's heartbeat and lungs.

"Jethro, what changes have you noticed in yourself over the past week. And before you tell me there aren't any, _I know you know there are!_" he warned.

Gibbs rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Can't get much past you, can I?" He finally relented and told Ducky everything he'd noticed of himself, most of which coincided with what his agents had told Ducky.

"Are there any times of the day or night you feel normal?"

Gibbs thought a moment. "I guess in the evenings and mornings. Though it's kind of hard to relax enough to sleep through the night."

_In other words.... at home._ Ducky pondered. "Have you been taking any medications, such as for colds? Anything that would make you fidgety?"

"No. Just aspirin for headaches. Any idea what's causing all this, Duck?"

"Hmmm." Ducky's face scrunched in thought. "My first guess would be withdrawal from a narcotic stimulant."

Gibbs looked at him sharply. "You know better than that!"

"Yes, yes, I do. Therefore, I will make no assumptions until I draw some blood for workup."

"Any other _guesses_?" Now that Gibbs thought about it, the symptoms he was experiencing did feel like withdrawal. Like when he'd have to go a couple of days without coffee, only worse.

"No, not until I see the results of the blood tests." Ducky had turned to get what he needed to draw blood. He tied the rubber strap around Gibbs upper arm and had him make a fist. Gibbs barely felt the needle enter or the withdrawal when the tubes were filled.

"Not bad for an old-schooler," Gibbs commented holding a cotton ball to the site while Ducky put a band-aid on it.

"It's us old-schoolers who never relied on nurses to do every little thing for them," Ducky chuckled. "I'll have Abby analyze these and I should have the results tomorrow. You may put your shirt back on."

"Are we done, finally?" Gibbs slid his shirt over his head.

"Just two more things." He went to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of pills. "I want you take one of these within 30 minutes of going to sleep."

"I don't need a knock-out drug, Duck! I'd be dragging all day tomorrow."

Ducky pushed the bottle into Gibbs's hand. "It's just Melatonin. It won't put you to sleep, just relax you enough so you can fall asleep on your own. Very mild, not even prescription strength."

"Fine!" Gibbs muttered, slipping the bottle into his jacket pocket as he put it on. "What was the other thing?"

"Go home."

Ducky raised his hand to ward off the upcoming protest. "By order of the Director, Jethro. You can come in tomorrow if you're feeling okay, but for now, just go home."

Jethro let his irritation show. "I suppose he's waiting for your phone call acknowledging that I actually made it down here and let you poke at me?"

"I think he referred to it as a 'sit-rep'," Ducky's tone was light. "Goodnight, Jethro."

Gibbs's look wasn't so light as he walked out of the room.

**************

Three sets of eyes watched Gibbs approach his desk and grab his coat. He looked around his desk for a moment, then felt in his coat pocket to make sure his keys were there. Satisfied they were where they should be, he looked at his agents.

"Ducky's ruled the death of—" he stopped, his shoulders slumped trying to remember the name. "Umm..."

"Sgt. White?" Tim helped out.

"Yes," Gibbs glared annoyingly. "Suicide. Talk with his family, then you can all go home."

"You heading home, Boss?" Tony asked cautiously. "Want some company?" _Damn! Why did I ask that? Am I looking for a head slap?_

"Yes.... and _NO!_"

Kate approached nervously. "What did Ducky say?" She almost cowered at his look. "I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

"Well, why don't you ask him? You all didn't seem to mind going behind my back before to speak with him."

"He asked us! And well, we're just worried about you." Kate's voice softened enough to bring out his guilt again.

Gibbs sighed. "He took a blood sample and won't know anything 'til tomorrow."

Kate stopped him as he tried to leave. "Please promise me you'll eat something?"

Gibbs resisted the urge to head slap her. _She's only trying to help, _he reminded himself. "I will eat dinner.... _Mother!_"

"Thank you." Kate smiled sweetly and stepped aside. "Good night."

"Night."

Gibbs slipped on his long coat as he made his way to the elevator, his gut telling himself he might of just told her a lie.

***************

At home, Gibbs decided to forego his usual pot of coffee hoping the less caffeine he had in his system the less restless he would feel and the better he would sleep that night. He did drink a full glass of water before going upstairs to change into a pair of gym shorts and t-shirt.

Gibbs stared at the refrigerator when he re-entered the kitchen, thinking of his promise to Kate, but he just wasn't hungry. _Maybe in a couple of hours. _Instead, he filled his largest glass with cold water and headed down to the basement.

With it being mid-November, it was a little chilly in the basement but he knew he'd work himself into a sweat soon enough. He was anxious to get busy doing something to keep himself moving. He first put several pieces of lumber into his steam chamber to make them pliable, then began planing the few ribs already attached to the shell of the boat.

Little did Gibbs know that he wasn't alone in his quiet basement. In the corner, hidden in the shadows behind the furnace stood the man responsible for the condition Gibbs was in.

The man remained completely silent as he watched Gibbs work on the boat. He seemed fascinated as he observed his subject gracefully handling the tools he used. He noticed how Gibbs worked quickly at first, as if trying to expend pent up energy, then how he slowly started to relax after drinking more and more of the tainted water. He smiled as he watched Gibbs finish off the rest of the glass and lean back against his workbench with a satisfied sigh.

_Yes, it's helping, isn't it? Feeling more yourself now, aren't you, Jethro?_

_Now is the time to strike._

Gibbs leaned back against his workbench, his thirst quenched and his nerves feeling under control. He closed his eyes and let the feeling wash over him. A few seconds later he felt something wasn't right and opened his eyes.

The man silently approached Gibbs, keeping his gun pointed at the marine. He smiled his wicked grin that would never reach his eyes when Gibbs opened his own eyes and they involuntarily widened in shock.

"Hello, Jethro."

The man carefully aimed his gun and pulled the trigger.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Fading Away**

By SherryGabs

Rated: M (Just to be safe. See Chap. 1 for full details.)

Thanks once again to those who have reviewed, alerted, or favorited this story. Is favorited even a word? :-)

**Chapter 5**

Gibbs gasped in pain when he felt something sharp stab his leg. He looked down to see a dart protruding from his thigh. Yanking it out he threw it to the floor; but he knew it was too late when he started feeling woozy almost right away.

"Who the hell are you!?" He had murder in his eyes.

"I will explain everything," the stranger told him, "after you wake up."

"You son of bitch!" Gibbs started towards the man but didn't get far. The tranquilizer was fast-acting and he stumbled, his muscles suddenly feeling like jelly. He blinked several times before falling to the floor unconscious.

The man bent down to feel Gibbs's pulse and lifted his eyelids to check his pupils. Satisfied, he figured he had at least few hours before his subject woke up. He retrieved the tranquilizer dart, putting it in his jacket pocket.

"You really should have a lock on your door, Jethro. Anybody could just walk right in." He patted Gibbs's cheek roughly before standing up.

The man went through the house removing the cameras and microphones he had hidden throughout. Lastly, he removed the container he had attached to the main water line situated behind the water heater. No one could have seen the now almost empty container unless there was reason to look behind the large tank which hid it well. He put the recording equipment in the duffle bag he'd brought and carried it and the container up the stairs.

Five minutes later he came back down and lifted Gibbs's limp body over his shoulder. He flipped off the basement light at the top of the stairs with a gloved hand. No fingerprints would be left behind. He carried Gibbs out the back door and through the dark yard. His van was parked on the next street behind the house. He made sure no one was around before silently pushed his way through the hedge, across the next yard and to the street. He none-too-gently laid Gibbs down in the back of his van and with a final look around got into the driver's seat and drove off. There were no witnesses.

**************

With a moan, Gibbs finally came to. It took a few moments for him to become aware enough to open his eyes, only to close them again tightly at the bright lights above him. After another few moments he felt able to sit up, which was made difficult by the fact he couldn't separate his hands as far as he liked for leverage and the rattling of chains caught his attention. Once sitting upright, he was able to open his eyes and see the source of the rattle.

His wrists were handcuffed in front of him. There was a long chain leading from the links of the cuffs, which he followed upward with his eyes to a hole in the center of the ceiling. He had to close his eyes again from the brightness of the two halogen lights on either side of that hole. There were two more lights for a total of four that ran along the stainless steel ceiling, along with two air vents.

Looking back down and blinking away the dark spots that appeared before him, he realized he was shirtless, his watch was gone and his feet were bare. Shaking his head, he took in more of his prison.

He was surrounded by four walls made from thick glass. He guessed the size to be about 12 by 12 foot with nothing but empty floor space beyond the glass as far as the bright lights would allow him to see. A speaker hung in each upper corner. Midway along two of the walls opposite each other was an eight-inch-wide stainless steel stud from floor to ceiling. About two-thirds of the way up from the floor of each stud was a dark circular hole. Four corner studs held the glass walls together. There was a steel door in the center of a third wall with opening near the bottom with a hinged cover over it. A toilet and small pedestal sink took up the opposite corner of the small room. _At least there's plumbing, _he thought. He noticed a drain in the center of the concrete floor and wondered why that would be there.

He became acutely aware of how warm it was in the room. The halogen lights were warm to begin with, but their heat reflecting off the stainless steel ceiling made it worse.

Seeing there was enough slack in the chain so he could move about, Gibbs stood up on wobbly legs. He gave himself a few seconds to get steady and went to one of the walls to more closely look at the hole in the stud. He couldn't see anything and felt inside as far as his fingers could reach, but couldn't feel anything either. He looked through the glass to see what might be behind the stud, only to see that it extended almost a foot outward. He couldn't imagine what could be encased in that.

His throat was very dry and the heat in the room wasn't helping it. He went to the sink and turned on the cold tap. First, he cupped his hands and splashed some water over his face to cool it down, then he drank several handfuls worth until his throat felt better. Turning off the cold, he tried the hot tap only to find it didn't work. There was no towel, so he rubbed his hands on his shorts to dry them.

Feeling stronger now, he decided it was time to face whoever it was that had taken him.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Show yourself!"

When there was no response after a moment of looking through the four walls, he tried again. "Come on, bastard! Who the hell are you?"

A chilling voice finally answered. "I see you are awake, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

The man appeared outside the glass room and walked further into the light. He stood casually, hands behind his back. He was a handsome man and Gibbs figured him to be in his mid-forties or so with straight collar-length blond hair, blue eyes, and built much like himself. He was well-dressed in black slacks, charcoal-gray shirt and black sport coat.

"Who are you and why have you brought me here?" Gibbs demanded.

"My name is Jonathan. Why I brought you here will be explained shortly." Jonathan's voice sounded crystal clear coming through the speakers.

Gibbs yanked on the chain in anger. "I want to know _now_! And how do you know who I am?"

"You need to learn patience, Jethro." Jonathan smiled and shook his head tolerantly. "As for how I know you, let's just say you fit the profile I needed."

"Profile for what?" Gibbs's eyes blazed. He wanted answers.

"I am a psychologist, a physician and a scientist. It has been my career-long ambition to study human behavior and devise treatments for changing an individual's normal behavior patterns and their thought processes."

Jonathan began slowly pacing outside the glass wall. "Our own government has employed me to use my theories against captured terrorists. I've worked with the best of interrogators."

He paused and sighed. "Unfortunately, my way of treating those degenerates didn't meet with the standards our government or the American Psychological Association tries to uphold."

Gibbs was becoming nervous, wondering what he had to do this. "Why not?"

"A few of them died from the treatments," Jonathan said simply, then faced Gibbs. "The government terminated my services and the APA and AMA revoked my licenses."

Gibbs couldn't stop the sarcasm in his voice. "I can see why they would frown upon patients being killed."

Jonathan stepped up against the glass, slamming his hand against it. "They didn't give me enough of a chance! I just needed more time! I garnered knowledge from those deaths! They were acceptable collateral damage!"

Gibbs could see fury in the man's cold blue eyes and swallowed the lump that formed in his throat when he heard 'acceptable collateral damage'. He was seriously wondering if this doctor was all there.

"What does any of this have to do with me? What profile were you talking about?"

Jonathan shook off the anger from the explosive justification of himself and pushed away from the glass. "After the degradation of that situation and knowing what I still had to offer, I decided to go a different route."

Gibbs didn't like the gleam of madness he was seeing.

"I thought it would be very interesting to see how much it would take to break someone who would be considered unbreakable. To take an otherwise normal man and turn him into a psychopath. Who would have more mental and physical strength than a veteran Marine? Someone who can look death in the eye and not back down. I know how to do thorough research. I studied several men and had a perfect hand full to choose from. You were one of them. You were just the lucky draw from the hand.

"You have lived through a lot in your life, Jethro. Wars, the deaths of fellow soldiers, the deaths of your family. You've survived grievous injury that would have killed most others. And yet you continue on."

Jonathan came close to the glass again and looked Gibbs in the eye. "How much will it take to break you, Jethro? How long will it take before _you_ become one of those sick bastards that you like to put away?"

Gibbs approached the glass. He bravely stood within inches to show he would not be intimidated. "You mean how long before I become like _you_? Never!"

Jonathan laughed heartily. "You think me a psychopath? You may be right. I have no regrets over those deaths, they were a learning experience. I _will _have no regrets for what your life is going to become. Like a psychopath, I don't think what I'm doing is wrong. It's science."

"You call this science?!" Gibbs was incensed. "You've kidnapped a federal agent. That's a serious crime, not science, asshole!. I don't _think _you're a psychopath, I _know _you are! And if you have any sense left at all, you'd better end this thing before it even starts. Let me the hell out of here!"

"But I've _already_ started," Jonathan told Gibbs with a meaningful tone.

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you been feeling a bit _off _lately, Jethro?" Jonathan kept his eyes on Gibbs as he began slowly walking around the outside of the glass cell. "Restless? Loss of appetite? Forgetfulness? Sound familiar?"

Gibbs's eyes narrowed as they followed the other man's direction. _He's responsible for all that!_ Gibbs now realized what must have happened.

"You drugged me! How? With what?"

"I won't bother you with the long name of it, but I have been sending small concentrated amounts of it through your water supply in your home. You've been drinking it, making coffee, brushing your teeth, showering in it. As long as it's in your system, you feel fine. However, it wears off after a while and you start to feel the withdrawal. It's an addictive stimulant. However, not one meant to make you feel euphoric or high, just normal, if not a little mellow and forgetful. It took you a few days to start showing these symptoms.

"Haven't you noticed you feel better once you're home and have drank some water or coffee? I've been monitoring you to see what your own reactions to the drug have been. From what I've seen when you walk through the door, you must be in a very agitated state at work. Too bad I didn't have eyes there also to watch."

Now it all made sense to Gibbs. He realized he _did _feel better after drinking water from home. He hadn't been able to make the connection before, he just knew he wanted his thirst quenched. But he was being manipulated and that just made him pissed off!

"The first opportunity I have, I'm going to snap your neck!" Gibbs warned in his most vicious growl.

Jonathan went on as if he hadn't heard the threat. "Tell me, Jethro, have your coworkers noticed your change in behavior?"

Ignoring him, Gibbs came back with his own question. "How have you been monitoring me? You have cameras planted at my house?"

"I removed them tonight." Jonathan stopped pacing. "Now answer my question. Have your coworkers noticed the changes in you?"

"Fuck off! I'm done talking."

Jonathan released a long breath. "I ask the question only because I like to keep careful notes. I'm curious as to what their reactions might have been seeing you in that condition."

"And I'm curious to see what you would look like with your head twisted around backwards."

"Such stubbornness, Jethro," Jonathan smirked, but then his expression became serious. "But my patience only goes so far. If you do not cooperate, you will see what trying my patience can do."

"That a threat, _Jonny_?" Gibbs smiled. "Come in here and give me your best shot."

"I don't need to come in there to cause you pain." Jonathan smiled in his sickening way. "Consider this your first lesson in what happens when you refuse to answer questions."

He slowly pulled a remote control from his pocket and held it up for his prisoner to see. Gibbs barely had a chance to look at it before Jonathan pushed a button.

Gibbs felt the chain grab and drag him to the center of the room and up off his feet. He gasped in pain as his shoulders and arms took his weight. He swung for a few seconds until he realized he could put his feet down and was able to touch the floor with his toes. It kept the cuffs from biting into his wrists, but it was damned uncomfortable. Hanging from the ceiling also brought him closer to the halogen lights just above him and they were hot that close up. He could feel the heat penetrating his hands, arms and head.

"What is my name, Jethro?"

"Psycho Jonny?" Gibbs huffed out rebelliously between clenched teeth.

"Wrong answer." Jonathan pushed another button.

Nothing could have prepared Gibbs for the onslaught of torrents of ice cold water.

Heavy gauge nozzles now protruded from the holes in the studs of the two opposite walls. Jets of water like those from a fire hose pelted him front and back. Gibbs yelled from the shock and sudden pain. It was impossible to keep his footing and he could only swing helplessly. He was at just the right height for the jets of water to be aimed at his torso, surely to leave him black and blue from their strength.

Jonathan watched on with a gleam in his eyes. He rewarded his own genius into the building of this glass prison with a maniac chuckle. It was just as he'd imagined.

He watched on in fascination for another long moment before finally flipping off the water jets. He let Gibbs struggle to catch his breath and regain his footing on the now slippery floor.

"What… is… my… name?"

Even as Gibbs struggled to breathe through the pain that engulfed him, he still couldn't restrain that stubborn bastard side of himself.

"F-Fuck you!" he stammered, knowing it was a mistake.

Once again he felt the icy blasts punch into him. It lasted for what seemed like several long minutes. He couldn't hold back the shouts of pain that wrenched out of him, not only from the stabbing water, but from the strain on his upper limbs.

Finally, the onslaught ended and he felt the chain being released. He fell to the hard floor and ended up on his back, the slack of the heavy chain landed on his gut.

Through his pain, Gibbs thought he heard the door open. He was struggling to breathe and couldn't open his eyes without being blinded by the lighting above. He sensed Jonathan next to him and heard his voice close to his ear.

"What is my name, Jethro?"

Gibbs wanted to tell him to fuck off again, but his common sense was telling him he didn't want to go through that again.

"Jethro, what is my name?"

Gibbs could hear impatience in the question and knew he must answer before it was too late. And yet it made him angry.

"Jonathan! You bastard! Jonathan!" he wheezed out painfully.

Gibbs felt a gentle hand run over his dripping head and was repulsed by it.

"Very good, Jethro. And I'll forgive the bastard part this time." Jonathan stood and went back to the door. "You're going to be here a very long time. It would be wise if you just cooperate."

Gibbs rolled over with a grunt so he could face Jonathan and opened his eyes. "Thought you wanted to see how much it would take to break me. You expectme to make it easy?"

"Oh, I know you won't make it easy," Jonathan said, "but if I ask a specific question, I expect an answer. I'll give you some time to _cool _off and think things over." With that he closed the door behind him. Gibbs heard a lock slide into place.

Only a moment later, he understood what Jonathan meant by cooling off. Gibbs was plunged into darkness when the lights went off. The room went completely black, shadowy white spots danced in front of his eyes from the suddenness of it. Then he heard a soft click and felt cool air coming from the vents above. Very cool air.

_Great! First he roasts me, now he's going to freeze me while I'm soaking wet! _

Gibbs curled up into a ball of misery to wait out his time.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Fading Away**

By SherryGabs

Rated: M (Just to be safe. See Chap. 1 for full details.) Thanks once again to Dark Rolling Sea for her help with beta reading.

Many thanks to those who keep reviewing or have reviewed for the first time. Each one is greatly appreciated.

**Chapter 6**

His prison cooled quickly and it wasn't long before Gibbs was shivering on the cold cement floor. With nothing to cover himself, he could only bear it as best he could. The pain from the water pelting was easing and he felt able to crawl to the corner in the dark, trying to get as far from the vents as possible, but it didn't seem to be any better. He sat up in the corner, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapped his cuffed arms around them.

He tried to wrap his mind around what was happening to him. He'd been drugged, kidnapped, chained, almost drowned; all because some lunatic wanted to use him as a guinea pig? His experiences as an agent and as a marine taught him enough to realize that using the heat, cold, and darkness were techniques being used to keep him aware he had no control over his environment. He now knew the water treatment was a form of punishment.

_What else was Psycho Jonny—oh excuse me, Jonathan!-- going to do? Torture? More drugs?_

Torture he thought he could handle; he was no stranger to physical pain. But drugs? The idea frightened him more than he'd care to admit. He didn't know if he'd be able to fight those. The receding pain of his bruised torso and aching shoulders was bringing that fact back to light as his body betrayed his need for more of the drug he'd been unknowingly drinking over the past week or so.

He glanced through the darkness over to the corner where he knew the sink stood and wondered if that water was drugged, too. No way he would make that mistake again and swore to himself not to swallow another drop of it no matter how thirsty he got.

Jonathan had told him he would be there a long time. Gibbs had to give the man credit with this glass cell he had set up. It was a given thing that the thick glass was probably shatterproof, he'd never get out of those shackles without the key and the heavy steel door was locked from the outside. The only chance he would have is if Jonathan got too close and he was able to overpower him. Then pray to God Jonathan had the key on him.

How long would it take for his team of agents to realize he was missing and go to his house to investigate? How long would it take them to connect, with the help of the blood test, that he had drugs in his system and figure out how it was administered? They would _have_ to realize it had been ingested involuntarily and find the source. Gibbs had faith they would figure it out quickly and would doggedly follow every lead they could to find him.

_If there's trace evidence left behind in the water _and _if that dirtbag left any evidence of himself in my house. Hell, _I _hadn't even noticed he'd been there!_

That thought troubled him. Jonathan was smart and too obsessive to leave anything incriminating behind. His house might just be one big dead end.

Gibbs shook all these niggling thoughts away before they made him crazy. Between the cold air and the way his nerves were disco dancing under his skin he was shivering uncontrollably. He had to get up and move around to try to warm up.

He pushed himself upward along the cold, smooth glass and stiffly got to his feet. Using the wall as a guide he started walking circles around the room, managing to avoid the latrine area by feel. He was soon accustomed to the layout and could easily walk around without hitting the toilet or sink. He wished he could rub the coldness from his arms, but the cuffs made it difficult. His feet were so cold they ached. The only sounds he heard was his own breathing, his chattering teeth, and the clanging of the chain.

Exhaustion eventually forced him to the floor again. He folded his legs inward and rubbed his frozen feet. He'd never before in his life been so cold. Gibbs had no idea how long he sat there in the dark, but it seemed like hours. He would occasionally doze off only to be jolted awake again by cramps of pain the cold was causing. He forced himself to get up again and make more laps around the room.

After a while Gibbs noticed a change. It took him a moment to realize the air had turned off. He'd tuned out the hum of the vents and their silence now stood out, and he no longer felt the cold air blowing on him. No sooner had he sighed in relief from that when the lights came on. The sudden intent brightness burned into his retinas, blinding him before he could close his eyes against it. He yelled out in pain, fell to his knees and bent over so his face was to the floor and covered his eyes with his hands.

"Ah, god!" he groaned. Tears leaked between his tightly closed lids. His eyes were burning and it took a few minutes before he felt he could move his hands away. He pushed himself up on all fours, keeping his head bent down and slowly tried opening his eyes. It took a few attempts before he could finally keep them open. They still hurt, but he was thankful he could see anything at all.

"I guess I should have warned you."

Gibbs could hear the mockery in the voice he was learning to hate.

"Where would the fun have been in that!" Gibbs retorted in a hoarse voice. He shifted so he was sitting on his hip. Keeping his head lowered, he turned it far enough to see a pair of brown clad legs on the other side of he glass next to him. "You know as well as I that it was intentional."

Jonathan smirked. "How's the weather in there?"

Gibbs gestured towards the lights. "With those on, it'll be getting warmer by the minute." As cold as he was now, he'd probably be hot in an hour.

Jonathan squatted down so they were level and studied Gibbs. He noticed how the blue-tinged lips stood out against his pale pallor and saw how the marine was shaking. He smiled in satisfaction.

"I know coffee is your drink of choice. You'll find a cup inside the door."

Gibbs looked over and saw the large steaming cup, along with a quartered orange on a paper plate. As tempted as he was to gulp down the hot liquid, going so far as to lick his dry lips, he resisted.

"You actually think I'm going to trust _anything _you give me to eat or drink?" he sneered.

"Touche, Jethro," Jonathan chuckled. "But I assure you it is completely safe. I have no further need to drug your drink or food." He gestured to the sink. "The water is just that—water. Nothing else."

Gibbs still didn't know if he could trust the man and the doubt showed in his eyes.

"Jethro, one thing you will learn about me is that I do not lie. I expect you to keep yourself hydrated and I expect you to eat what I give you. I know your appetite has been lacking, but I don't think a simple piece of fruit is asking too much. I know you haven't eaten since yesterday and I need you to keep your strength up. You do this for me, and I will see that you get your caffeine fix with every meal."

Gibbs still eyed him hesitantly, but he _really _did want that coffee. He was very good at seeing deception in people and Jonathan didn't appear to be lying. Giving into his captor's demands, Gibbs stood up stiffly and sat back down again next to the door. He picked the plastic cup up and breathed in the heavenly aroma, letting the cup warm his hands. He finally took a sip and was surprised to find it was just how he liked it, nice and strong. It only took him a few minutes to finish off the coffee with a sigh of satisfaction as it warmed his insides nicely.

"Now the orange," Jonathan told him as he watched.

Gibbs remembered his drill instructor at Paris Island teaching survival skills. _"If you have the opportunity to eat something, you TAKE that opportunity! You never know when the next meal will come along. Even if it's a rattlesnake that just tried to send you through the pearly gates!"_

Gibbs's lips turned up slightly at the memory. He _would_ need to keep his strength up. His expression lost its amusement when he glanced back up to Jonathan. _For when I finally get my hands on you, you fucking snake! _He picked up one of the wedges and started on it.

The psychologist wondered at the change of expression. This stubborn marine was certainly very interesting and he was going to enjoy every minute of abusing the man's mind and body in the coming months. And he knew it would take months to turn Gibbs into the man the ex-doctor knew he could be.

Jonathan stood and walked out of the light and came back a moment later with a chair, placing it where he could easily see his prisoner. He sat down and watched Gibbs place the rind of the first wedge of orange back on the plate and take another.

"So, Jethro, you never answered my previous question." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Did your coworkers notice the changes in you?"

Gibbs chewing slowed as he thought of his team. _Have they noticed I'm missing yet? What time is it, anyway?_

"Could you tell me what time it is?" he ventured.

"That's not important. Answer my question."

Time deprivation. Another control tactic.

Gibbs glared angrily at him. He then saw Jonathan pull the remote control from his pocket and dangle it from his fingers.

"Do you really want another shower?"

Gibbs looked down at his chest and abdomen. The bruising wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, but it was still tender. No, it wasn't worth it. At least not this time.

"Yes, they noticed."

"And?"

Gibbs sighed in resignation. "They all kept asking if I was sick. I lost my temper a couple of times and got in trouble with my boss. He sent me to our medical examiner who checked me over and took some blood."

"What did the medical examiner tell you?"

"That my blood pressure and pulse were high, which might account for the headache I had. He said my symptoms were like that of drug withdrawal. Guess he was more right than he thought!" Gibbs glared angrily again. "Aren't you worried what will show up in that blood test?"

"No," he said simply. "Your lab will find traces they won't be able to identify. It is my own mixture and never used before you."

"Lucky me!"

Jonathan smiled at the jest. "No matter. I won't be using that one again anyway. It was only a test."

"Test?" Gibbs spat out.

"To test your susceptibility. It will be helpful in future applications."

_More drugs? _Even though the room was warming rapidly, Gibbs still shivered at the thought.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Gibbs stood and faced Jonathan threateningly. "If you think I'm just going to voluntarily swallow pills or _let _you inject me with something, you've got another thing coming!"

"You aren't in a position to do much of anything, Jethro."

Gibbs slammed his shackled hands against the glass. "You come within three feet of these and you'll see what I can do!"

"Oh, yes, I am fully aware you could kill me with your bare hands. You don't think I've taken that into consideration?"

Gibbs spun around in frustration, yanking at the cuffs in a vain attempt of breaking them. Not only did he feel physically horrible, but the psychologist seemed to have thought of everything to keep him in line and guessing, which angered the hell out of him. He didn't like not being in control.

"You still need to finish your meal," Jonathan said calmly.

_What! _All Gibbs wanted to think about was what this guy planned on doing with him and how much he hoped to God his team got to him before things got too bad. But the psycho wanted to make sure he finished a stinking orange?

"I lost my appetite!" he said snidely.

Gibbs felt the strong yank of the chain. He lost his footing and fell over, being drug helplessly. His shoulders pulled painfully and dangerously close to dislocation when the chain jerked to a stop. He put his weight on his toes as soon as he was able to help ease it. He couldn't help but groan in pain.

Jonathan came to where Gibbs could see him, his anger evident. "How long do you think you can stand there before you can't support your weight anymore?"

"As long as it takes," Gibbs gasped heavily.

Jonathan almost smiled in admiration. He did love a challenge.

"I'll let you be then." He left, leaving Gibbs hanging under the hot lights.

*************

It was a good hour before Jonathan came back. Gibbs felt like he was in an oven. His hands and lower arms were burned red and he was sweating profusely. The heated metal of the cuffs burned into his wrists. He was still balancing himself on his toes, but was near the point of collapse.

"Jethro?" Jonathan waited while Gibbs attempted to open his eyes against the brightness, unable to do more than squint.

"Was it worth it?"

Gibbs had to admit that getting into this position from losing his temper had been stupid. He needed to control it, but it was so hard when his stress levels were high. Even when his pride wanted to yell "Yes!" his body didn't. He shook his head and whispered, "No."

Instead of being dropped to the floor like last time, the chain lowered slowly and Gibbs was deposited gently to his feet. As his arms lowered painfully he could see how red they were. His wrists were worse. Even the top of head felt sunburnt. He staggered, but kept his balance.

_Very stupid!_

Gibbs felt Jonathan's eyes boring into him and looked up. They stared for several seconds before Jonathan nodded his head towards what was left of the orange on the floor by the door. Gibbs was no longer in any mood for a battle of the wills and once again gave in.

Feeling pathetic with himself, Gibbs slowly walked over and lowered himself down to the floor next to the plate.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Fading Away**

By SherryGabs

Rated: M (Just to be safe. See Chap. 1 for full details.)

Meant to post this yesterday, but as Steve Martin used to say.... "I forgot!"

**Chapter 7**

Gibbs finished what remained of his small meal quickly. Jonathan then had him take the cup to the sink and get a drink of water, which Gibbs didn't argue with since he was quite thirsty. He was told to keep the cup at the sink and use the toilet if necessary. Gibbs had gotten over bashfulness long ago, thanks to the marines corp's lack of privacy, and paid no heed to emptying his bladder in the other man's presence.

"So, Jethro... you were a sniper for a good deal of your marine career. You did black ops as a soldier and as an agent. You were basically sent to take people's lives, and you did it well. How did that make you feel?"

_Time to play shrink, huh? _Gibbs thought of a suitable response. "Killing someone? You should know, you've done it yourself!"

Ignoring the mock for now, Jonathan continued. "How does it feel to look through a scope from a thousand yards away and watch the body fall without looking him in the eye? Or how does it feel when you _are_ able to look him in the eye, right before shooting him, stabbing him, or breaking his neck?"

Gibbs started pacing. "Look, it was my job! We're trained _not _to feel or think on it. They were enemies. Terrorists, drug lords, murderers, rapists, whatever. They had to die. Entire villages and countries were at stake and countless lives were saved because of it."

"You don't consider it cold-blooded murder?"

"No! It's war! People die in wars."

Jonathan tilted his head and eyed Gibbs a moment from his seat. "Were we at war with Mexico when you killed Pedro Hernandez?"

Gibbs stopped in his tracks and swayed as the memory cut through him like lightning. Himself hidden, lying patiently on a hillside waiting for the pickup to round the corner. The pop of his shot, the crack of the windshield, and all the blood.

"How did you—" he started asking quietly and slowly.

"Like I said, I am very thorough at research. Did you feel satisfaction at murdering the man who killed your wife and daughter?"

Gibbs shook his head and hugged himself as far as his arms would allow. Memories of his small family ran through his mind and it was like a knife piercing through him. He looked up in frustration, forgetting about the lights, and winced as he quickly lowered his eyes again.

"I don't want to talk about him!" he whispered harshly.

Gibbs was startled a few seconds later as the lights dimmed. They went from ultra bright down to a very comfortable level, almost dim.

"Is that better?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes." Gibbs looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"I will keep them down as long as you answer my questions. If not, they will go back up. Continuously fight me and well," he held up the remote, "you know what could happen."

Gibbs was frustrated at being used like a puppet. He knew it was about control and he hated that bastard for having all of it. He yanked on his chain in anger and started pacing again.

"That piece of shit took everything from me! I felt justified, and yes, _satisfaction, _when I erased him from this world!"

"So you got away with murder." It was a statement, not a question.

Gibbs rounded on him. "What about you? Why weren't you put away for killing those prisoners you experimented on?"

Jonathan laughed softly. "Simple. The government didn't want to admit they had let those kinds of tactics occur in the first place. It was all buried."

"Oh, wonderful!" Gibbs said under his breath sarcastically. He knew that certain sections of the government hid a lot from the public.

"Do you think the desire to commit crimes is infused in us at some point in our lives, or can a person be born with a predilection for criminal behavior?"

Gibbs looked at Jonathan in confusion wondering what the point to the questions was. "A baby has no _predilection _for anything except food, comfort, and clean diapers. No, criminal behavior is something that's done in desperation, forced on, mental trauma, or taught to people. I thought you were a psychologist! You should know more than me."

"Hmm," Jonathan nodded. "I already know you can commit murder. Can you see yourself capable of… let's see--slapping a woman around, armed robbery of a convenience store, beating up a homeless man? Things like that just for the hell of it?"

"No!" Gibbs shook his head, his face scrunched in confusion. "I would never do those things just for the hell of it. And it wasn't murder in my opinion!"

"What was it then?" Jonathan asked, acting amazed at first, then his expression turned a sick kind of curious. He knew the response he would get. _"Acceptable collateral damage?" _

Gibbs mind flashed back to what Jonathan had called his own victims. "You son of a bitch!" His voice was venomous. "Don't you dare compare me to you!"

Jonathan smiled and stood up, satisfied with the answer. "I think it's time I explain to you what's going to happen."

Gibbs already fast heartbeat took on new speed. _This can't be happening! How the hell am I going to get out of this?_

Jonathan waved his arm at the glass prison. "You've already been witness to most of my control techniques, and I'm sure you've recognized them as such. Using those and one or two more you haven't had the pleasure of experiencing yet, I'm going to make you forget who you were and what you were. You'll no longer be Special Agent Gibbs, law enforcer extraordinaire, but pretty much the opposite. A whole new man."

Gibbs breathing rate increased and he shook his head in denial.

"Oh I'm not going to turn you into a serial killer, but into someone who gets his kicks out of making other people suffer. Who can kick a puppy around without batting an eye. I'm sure you've dealt with people like this, Jethro. The kind of person you consider to be a whack job and pariah to society who should be locked up in a 8x8 cell the rest of their life.

"I've spent quite a long time developing the drugs I intend to use. They will change the makeup of your central nervous system and effect certain portions of your brain, etc. etc. I won't go into much detail since you won't remember any of it anyway. Let's just say you're going to become very confused and very reliant upon me."

Gibbs looked around trying to wrap his mind around all this. He felt like a tightly wound coil ready to break. He had to ask the questions forth most in his mind.

"How do you even know this is going to work? Have you tested them? How do you know I just won't wind up a vegetable or another one of your dead bodies!? How can you be so sure!"

"I've learned from experience. I'm quite confident the drugs will perform as expected."

_Isn't this the part where DiNozzo would come up with some kind of movie reference? _Gibbs thought. _But this is no horror movie. This is very real._

"And just how do you plan to administer those drugs?" Gibbs's eyes were wide with anxiety. "Am I supposed to just stand still and let you inject me?" _Fat chance of that! You get close enough to me, you're dead!_

"That would be nice," Jonathan shrugged and nodded. "But highly unlikely… at least at first."

He walked around the outside of the room to the door, unlocked and opened it. Standing in the open doorway, Jonathan reached around to the back of his waistband and produced what Gibbs at first assumed was a gun. Closer inspection showed him the weapon was actually a taser.

"This is how I intend to give you injections."

He didn't have to be close to Gibbs to shoot the probes as the wires extended around 15 feet. Before Gibbs could try to make himself a difficult target, Jonathan pulled the trigger, sending the electrically charged points into Gibbs's abdomen.

Gibbs gasped and fell to the floor. The muscle-jamming pulses left him unable to control his jerking body. Jonathan quickly moved towards his prisoner, pulling out a syringe. He injected the serum into Gibbs's deltoid muscle and removed the probes from Gibbs's skin, then moved back again before Gibbs could recover.

Back in the doorway, Jonathan gave Gibbs a moment to recoup himself before speaking. "The drug is intramuscular, so there's no need to take time to find a vein. I will give you these injections three times a day. I doubt it will be too long before you just take them voluntarily."

Gibbs lay there, breathing heavily, his body tingling and muscles twitching. "You fucking psycho!" he hissed. His brain screaming retribution at the thought of enduring this three times daily.

"You may not notice much change the first day. After that, things will start to get interesting and we will start the intensive programming."

Gibbs looked up at him with pure hatred in his icy blue eyes. He made a vow to himself that he would fight with everything he had within him. That Jonathan would not win in the end.

****************

The morning after Gibbs was sent home early after his exam with Ducky, his three teammates were all seated at their desks working by 0700. By 0745, their furtive glances at Gibbs's empty desk finally gave voice to worry. He was _never_ this late without any word.

"Maybe he decided to take the day off since he wasn't feeling well," Tim chanced. "Or maybe Ducky _told _him to take the day off."

"I think Gibbs would have called either way," Kate said. "I'll call Ducky and make sure, though."

Tony and Tim watched Kate's side of the conversation and she looked just as confused as before the call.

"Ducky said he told Gibbs he could come in today as long as felt okay. He should also have the blood test results from Abby this morning."

They all stared at each other. Kate bit her lip nervously, Tim used his sleeve to wipe nonexistent dust off his monitor, while Tony tossed a wad of paper up and down. They were all wondering who was going to be the one brave enough to call their boss.

"Rock, paper, scissors?" Tony offered.

The choice was taken out of their hands when Director Morrow appeared in the bullpen. "Where's Agent Gibbs?"

"Don't know. He didn't show up and hasn't called." Tony told him.

"Call him, DiNozzo," Morrow ordered.

Cursing under his breath, Tony dialed Gibbs home number first. When there was no answer he tried the cell number with no further luck.

"No answer on either phone, Sir. What do you want us to do?" Tony asked.

Director Morrow sighed. It wasn't Gibbs's usual standard to be unavailable, and with what's been happening with him lately he didn't want to take any chances.

"DiNozzo, go to his house and check up on him. If he's okay, come on back. If not, call and let me know."

"Yes, Sir."

"You two," Morrow addressed Kate and Tim and shrugged. "Just keep busy."

Tony didn't waste any time getting to Gibbs's house. He saw the pickup truck in the driveway and hoped that Gibbs had possibly just slept in. Walking through the unlocked front door he noted first the silence of the house.

"Gibbs?" He called out. Walking into the kitchen he noticed the clean, unused coffee pot. He called out again climbing the stairs to the bedroom. He noticed the made up bed and the clothes Gibbs had worn the day before tossed over the quilted cover.

_Don't think he slept in the bed._

Knowing Gibbs sometimes fell asleep under his boat, he rushed to the basement.

"Gibbs!" he called out fruitlessly to the empty room, not seeing his boss anywhere. He did, however, notice the steam chamber had been left on with lumber inside of it. He knew Gibbs wouldn't leave it on while gone from the house. He shut it off and turned towards the workbench. He saw Gibbs cell phone laying amongst a few hand tools and scattered nails. Picking it up, he saw his missed call on the display.

_Something is hinky here._

Taking out his own cell, Tony called Director Morrow.

"Director, he's not here. His pickup is in the drive, his cell phone is here, the bed hasn't been slept in, but he's nowhere around. My gut's telling me something's wrong."

"Any ideas?" Morrow asked with a practically audible frown.

"I think I need McGee and Todd here with the MCRT truck. I want to go over this place with a fine-toothed comb."

"I'll send them right over."

Tony hung up, trying to keep his worried panic at bay. While waiting for the others he looked around some more.

A layer of sawdust covered most of the floor around the boat's shell and workbench. He noticed two different sets of footprints and a large area where the sawdust was smeared. As if someone had been laying there, then moved.

Releasing a frustrated breath, he looked around more. He picked up the glass off the bench and smelled it. It was dry inside and had no odor.

_He's been drinking a lot of water._

Nothing else obvious appeared out of the ordinary. Tony decided to check around outside while waiting for the others to get there.

McGee and Kate arrived 20 minutes later. Tony met them out front and reported of what he'd already observed inside.

"I was just in the backyard. There's a set of footprints still visible in the dewy grass. Must have been a heavy load to have left prints that deep."

"So either Gibbs gained 170 pounds or was carried out by someone else." Kate knew she really didn't need to state the obvious.

"They went through the hedge into the next yard. Footprints lead over to the next street. That's where the trail ends."

"What do you want us to do, Tony?" Tim asked, opening the back of the truck.

"Looks like whatever happened, happened in the basement. Probie, you dust for prints. Kate, take photos, especially of the floor. Keep both sets of eyes open for any other evidence. I'm going to talk to all the neighbors and see if they saw anything."

"I called Ducky to tell him what's happening and to call me as soon as he found out the results of the blood test. It might help." Kate informed him.

Tony nodded. "Okay, let's get moving!"

*************

Ducky called a short time later. "Katelyn, I'm deeply concerned about these results. There is what appears to be a type of amphetamine chemical; however, both Abigail and I are at a loss as to what exactly it is. Neither of us has seen this particular chemical composition before; however, she is still researching."

"It's addictive, though, isn't it?" Kate asked. "That would explain his behaviors recently."

"Yes, I'm quite sure it is. And who knows how long he's been ingesting it. Any sign of him yet?"

"No." Kate sighed sadly. "But something definitely happened here. We're pretty sure he's been taken."

"Oh good Lord!" Ducky ran a nervous hand down his face. "That man surely knows how to attract trouble. Abigail is already scared to death over the test and now this. She'll be devastated."

"I know, Ducky." Kate agreed, knowing how sensitive Abby was. Gibbs was like a favorite uncle to her. "We'll find him."

"I have every faith in your investigative abilities, Katelyn," Ducky said encouragingly. "We need to find out how Jethro has been ingesting the drug. He would never in a million years take it voluntarily. He can't have known he was."

"Someone was giving it to him. But how?" Kate's forehead furrowed as she tried to come up with ideas. "He never has much food here. Not that he's been eating anyway!"

"He _must _be getting it from home. He said he feels better there. What is the most common thing Jethro would ingest there?"

"Coffee!" Kate slapped the side of her head. "And water! It has to be the water."

"Of course!" Ducky exclaimed. "It's obvious now. He _would _make coffee first thing, knowing him. You must collect a water sample. It wouldn't hurt to have pipe residue, also."

"We're on it. Thanks, Ducky!" Kate hung up turning to Tim, who'd been listening in and now stood by her with a hopeful expression. "We think his water's been drugged. We need samples."

"Why would someone drug his water? And how? If someone wanted to kidnap him, there's plenty of easier ways to do it."

Kate shrugged. "I don't know, McGee. That's why we're called investigators. We investigate. Think you can find a monkey wrench down here?"

About 30 minutes later, when Tony returned, he found McGee under the kitchen sink fighting to remove the trap.

"Whatcha doin', McPlumber?"

"Tony, do _not _turn the water on!" he said breathlessly and with a grunt, Tim finally got the trap undone and eased himself out of the tight space. He wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and held up the trap proudly.

"Boy, that thing was stuck good."

"And why are you removing plumbing pieces?"

Tim explained what Ducky and Kate had concluded about the water being drugged.

"We have a sample of water and now this for residual traces."

Kate came into the kitchen from the basement wiping dust and cobwebs from her clothes. "It looks like whoever did this connected something to the main water line. It's been scratched up recently and the dust back there has been disturbed."

"Interesting!" Tony's eyebrows raised and he smiled. "About a week and half ago or so, a neighbor said he saw a plumbing van in front of Gibbs's house. Said the side of the van said _Zargo's _or _Zarga's Plumbing. _He was sure of that much. But nobody saw anything last night." He frowned at the last bit.

"Well, we have enough to get started." Kate stated. "We have the how and when."

Tim placed the sink trap into an evidence bag and added, "Now we just need the who and why."

TBC

**Hope you're all still liking this. Let me know. Thanks!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Fading Away**

By SherryGabs

Rated: T

**Chapter 8**

I've changed the rating from M to T because I don't think any previous chapters really warranted an M and I don't predict the rest will either.

Once again thanks to Dark Rolling Sea for being a terrific beta and thanks to those who've reviewed and put this on their story alert and favorites list.

*****************

_Three weeks later…_

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Tony had been appointed temporary lead agent to the team. He sat at his desk going through Gibbs's file for at least the hundredth time trying to find something they had missed.

The name on the plumber's van had been a fake. No traffic cameras had recorded it, let alone a license plate number.

The chemicals found in the water and Gibbs's blood were untraceable. In other words, someone's own creation, never before used by anyone else. Could be a drug dealer, pharmacist, or doctor. They hadn't been able to find anyone capable of creating such a concoction who would have a grudge against their boss.

The set of shoe prints that wasn't Gibbs's belonged to a pair of Florsheim's size 11. Unfortunately, it's a very popular shoe sold in hundreds of stores up and down just the east coast alone. Again untraceable.

No fingerprints, no hairs, no fibers, no witnesses. Nothing.

Missing person reports had been sent to law enforcement agencies all over the eastern time zone. When no responses had come in within a few days, they were sent all over the country.

Not only was the case as cold as January rain, the director had informed him that his team had to start accepting new cases. Tony couldn't blame the man. Morrow had been extremely patient with the team and did all he could to help Tony take over as team leader. It was Tony who added 'temporary' in front of that title, not ready to give up on Gibbs yet.

Tony slammed the file shut in frustration and held a hand over his tired eyes. He felt like a failure. The most important investigation of his career and it had gone nowhere. _Maybe I'm just not cut out for this position. Maybe I'm just too inexperienced... or too damn dumb. _He missed Gibbs. Missed the barking of orders, the head slaps, seeing the look of smugness on Gibbs's face when he figured out the riddles to a mystery in his mind. Tony knew he didn't have the leadership abilities Gibbs had, or the talent for keeping the team grounded. Gibbs always knew what to say when one of them had problems that needed worked out, either professionally or personally. Tony had always envied those abilities.

He looked at Kate and Tim. Like him, they had been unusually quiet. No one was cracking jokes or picking on each other as much as they used to. They were all tired, spending long days at the office, hoping to catch a lead. He knew they didn't blame him for the lack of advancement in the case. They had been as supportive as they possibly could with him. Yet, he couldn't help feeling disappointed in himself.

Tony thought of the goth forensic scientist downstairs and was proud of the way Abs had been holding up. She was a wreck at first, but willed herself to overcome her anxieties. She wanted to be strong for all of them and for Gibbs. He knew she still cried in private sometimes and would stare at the images of Gibbs she kept on the monitors in her lab. She had worked relentlessly that first week, going over what little evidence there was over and over again. Tony had held the exhausted woman while she sobbed out her frustrations and misery. It was after that episode that she decided she needed to be strong and be less of a worry to the whole team.

He knew Ducky was worried. The medical examiner had confided in Tony his concern that if Gibbs was still alive and being subjected to the same drug use, the effects of which could eventually be harmful to his cardiovascular system. The heart of a man Gibbs's age could only take so much, no matter how healthy he was beforehand.

Ducky had also shared stories of his past with Gibbs. Tony hadn't known they had such a long working history together and that Ducky considered Jethro to be his best friend. It was no wonder Gibbs went to Ducky when he needed a sounding board on anything from active cases to his unlucky marriages. Tony felt sorry for the man. He had the most history with Gibbs and his worry was aging him quickly.

Tony was ripped out of his thoughts by Tim's voice. "What?" He shook his head to clear it. "What'd you say?"

"I asked if you were okay," Tim said hesitantly. "You were staring off into space."

Tony ran his hands through his hair and sighed. "Just thinking about things."

Tim nodded, understanding. "I still can't believe he's been gone this long. It's like he fell off the face of the earth."

"Yeah, I know," Tony agreed sadly. "I just can't think of anything else we can do."

Tim shrugged slightly. He picked up Tony's Mighty Mouse stapler and played with it. "I think we've done all we can do. Whoever took him knew exactly what he was doing." He put the stapler back down. "And didn't leave anything behind to identify him."

Tony looked over to Kate who was watching them with watery eyes.

There were times when she wanted to scream in frustration and anger. There were times when she wanted to shout at Tony that he should be doing more, that _she _should be doing more. But those feelings always ended as quickly as they came. They were already doing everything they could. She'd feel guilty after these mental outbursts and silently ask for Tony's forgiveness and promise to be more supportive and helpful to him. She'd even leave some of her lunch laying around her desk for him to steal. At least then she knew he was eating something better than vending machine junk.

"We've really lost him, haven't we?" she asked, blinking away the threatening tears.

None of them wanted to admit the truth to that. It was heartbreaking not knowing whether their beloved boss was alive or dead. Being held like a prisoner or lying dead in the cold somewhere. But after three weeks, the likelihood of Gibbs still being alive was very slim.

"Director Morrow wants us to get back in the rotation," Tony informed them. "The other teams are getting piled up with cases."

"Figured that was coming," Tim said, nodding his head.

Tony let out a long breath and looked around the squad room. The whole floor had Christmas decorations hung around here and there. A huge beautifully decorated tree stood in the center of the windows. He felt no Christmas joy at the moment. He was angry that the world hadn't come to a stop when Gibbs disappeared. For everyone else life had gone on. Not his or his team's. He knew he had to let go of that anger and accept the fact that they may never see Gibbs again.

"I can't stand this!" he hissed. "I have never felt so useless in my life!"

Kate got up, came around Tony's desk and put her arm around his shoulder. Under normal circumstances, she never would have thought she'd try to comfort him like this. But circumstances weren't normal and Tony was seriously hurting. They all were. She actually missed the old Tony and the way he'd rag on her constantly.

"We've done everything we can. You've lead a good investigation, but this one was a no-winner from the beginning."

Tony sighed deeply. He took hold of the hand Kate had on his shoulder. "I miss him," he admitted quietly.

Tim's eyes were moist and his voice wavered. "We all miss him."

Kate saw and couldn't stand the defeated look in their eyes, or in her own eyes. They had to keep positive and not give in to the dark despair that was a constant threat to them all.

She moved so she stood between the two men. She took hold of each of their hands and squeezed. "Yes, we miss him and we love him. We may have to go on to other things now, but we can still have hope. We don't know for sure that he's dead. I know the percentages are against it, but I refuse to give up hope."

Both men knew what she was doing and had to agree that having hope would keep them going.

"I think Abby's rubbing off on you, Kate," Tim said with a smile.

Tony looked in her eyes a few seconds, thinking, and let a smile grace his lips for the first time in days. He silently thanked God for giving her an upbeat spirit. He couldn't resist a slight jab, though. "Yeah, pretty soon you'll be getting a tattoo on the other cheek."

"Tony!" But instead of being angry, Kate laughed and smacked the back of Tony's head.

"God, I miss that." Tony said, sobering again.

"Yeah, you should be brain damaged by now," Kate said, hoping Tony wouldn't fall back in his slump.

Tim liked seeing them both smile. Smiles had been too few and far between. It made him think of better times.

"Hey, I have an idea!" he blurted suddenly. "Let's go out after work tonight. Us three, Abby, Ducky, and Jimmy. Let's meet somewhere, have some dinner and drinks, and… just talk. About anything. Like we used to do before. I just think it would be good for all of us. You know… sticking together. Giving each other hope."

Tim looked at their surprised stares and shrugged, hoping he hadn't made a mistake. "I just thought…"

"Actually, Probie, I think that's the best idea I've heard all day." Tony's eyes showed his gratitude at the idea of sharing time and talk with his friends… his NCIS family. "It's been too long."

"That's a great idea, Tim. We need that. I'll make all the arrangements."

Tim blushed when Kate actually kissed his cheek before running off to her desk and phone.

Tony leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. Maybe they _would _have to put Gibbs's case on the back burner while they had to handle new cases, but the boss wouldn't be given up on. Yet, they couldn't live like they were mourning his death. Unless there was a body, they wouldn't give up hope of seeing Gibbs again someday.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Fading Away**

**By SherryGabs**

**Rated: T**

Uh-oh... I'm running out of completed chapters. Better get my butt in gear :-P

**Chapter 9**

**Note: Instead of going through every day of Gibbs's captivity, which would probably write a book in itself; I've decided to do segments of it through flashbacks. They won't be in order, but jumping around, depending on the situation. So, as of now, he's been released. And remember from my notes in chapter 1, Gibbs will be acting differently than he normally would.**

**Flashbacks will be shown in bold face.**

_Five months after being taken…_

He awoke to the sun shining in his face. Cold, confused, he looked around to find himself in an alley, laying on a piece of cardboard against a building. He sat up, leaned against the brick wall and pulled the worn denim jacket closer around himself.

Looking around he saw a few others lying sleeping on the ground. Homeless, he presumed, and wondered how he had gotten there. Searching his memory, the last things he remembered was being handed clothing, getting dressed, and just before feeling a needle in his arm, hearing Jonathan's voice telling him he'd be keeping in touch.

The sun, the cool air, the cardboard, the people, the smells… all felt foreign to him. He tried to recall how long it had been since he'd been outdoors. He had no idea, but it felt like years. He looked up into what he could see of the blue sky between buildings and breathed in. Even though he was in a dirty, smelly alley it felt good.

The clothes he was wearing felt odd, too. Blue jeans, button down plaid flannel shirt untucked and hanging loosely; all worn looking but comfortable. It had been so long since he'd worn anything but shorts. And shoes! How good a pair of athletic shoes could feel.

These good feelings evaporated as he tried to recall how and why he was waking up where he was. His memories were just a confused mess for the most part. He knew he'd been confined for quite a while. He could still see the glass walls of his prison. Remembered pain, certain intense "therapy" sessions; and, of course, Jonathan.

Jonathan had been his only source of human contact during that whole time. He tried for a few moments to recall people and places from before, but it only made his head ache. Jonathan always helped ease his pain.

**************

**"You cause your pain yourself. Why do you do that? This will take the pain away."**

**Another injection or another pill, always followed by a squeeze to the shoulder or a pat to the head.**

**"There, is that better?" **

**************

Yes, Jonathan always took the pain away. He could trust Jonathan.

**************

**"You know you can trust me. Everybody else just wants to cause you trouble. Only trust in me."**

**"I trust you."**

*************

Two policemen walked into the alley from the corner, waking up and chasing off the men and women still sleeping on the cold concrete.

"All right, people, this Holiday Inn is now closed for business," the older of the two would poke the person with his baton as he passed them. "Get outta here, ya bums!"

The homeless persons seemed to recognize the officers and scurried off quickly as if to avoid a confrontation with the older one. The younger one would frown at the older officer's treatment of the people, but never said anything. It was the same thing every day. The senior officer got his rocks off pushing his authority around.

"Ain't seen this one around here before," the older officer said coming up on the man still sitting against the wall.

The younger of the two looked down at the man, noting his pale complexion. "Nope, me either. Looks like he hasn't seen sunlight all year. Maybe he just got outta prison."

"Hey you!" The older man pressed his baton against the denim-clad shoulder. "You gotta name?"

He looked down at the nightstick pushing him back against the brick wall. With two fingers he gently shoved the stick off his shoulder and pushed himself up to his feet using the wall for support. He could feel his temper beginning to simmer.

The senior officer took offense at his baton being pushed away by this bum. He narrowed his eyes and got into the man's space. "I asked you a question, mister. What is your name!"

************

**"What is your name?" **

**"Jethro… G-Gibbs," he breathed out softly, painfully. He was hanging once again under the hot lights. They had been going through this particularly session for a couple of days. It was getting harder and harder to remember his identity. **

**"You know that's not right. Why are you being so stubborn?" Jonathan touched the cattle prod to Gibbs's back again. The current wasn't full strength. Enough to cause sufficient pain, but not do any kind of permanent damage after repeated use. With his subject strung up like he was, Jonathan had no fear of being in close proximity. Gibbs was too weak at the moment to do anything against him anyway.**

**Gibbs's sweat-soaked, over-heated body convulsed in agony. Drops of blood ran down his arms from where the handcuffs dug into his wrists.**

**"What is your name?"**

**As much pain as he was in, Gibbs still wasn't ready to give up. With heavy blood-shot eyes, he looked defiantly at Jonathan.**

**"J-J-Jethro G-Gibbs! You prick!"**

**Jonathan sighed. He knew from the start Jethro was going to be a tough nut to crack, and he wasn't being disappointing.**

**He decided he needed to make an adjustment in the medications he was giving Gibbs and give him a few days to adjust. But in the meantime, the subject needed to learn a lesson in obedience.**

**"You know you only bring this on to yourself."**

**Leaving Gibbs hanging, Jonathan walked out, locking the door behind him. Gibbs knew what was coming, he'd been through it enough times. Expecting it, though, didn't lessen the pain it caused when the water cannons beat into him once again. Five minutes of this followed by hours of darkness and freezing cold.**

**Afterwards, when it was obvious Gibbs was unconscious after the lights came on at a comfortable level, Jonathan returned with a bag of medical supplies he knew he'd need. He listened to Gibbs's chest with a stethoscope and heard the congestion. He saw the perspiration even though the room was so cold. He'd expected this, since it wasn't the first time, and gave Gibbs a shot of a strong antibiotic, then an injection of his upgraded drug.**

**He used the key he kept in his pants pocket and unlocked the handcuffs. He bandaged Gibbs's raw wrists after applying an antibiotic salve, then put the cuffs back on.**

**Satisfied, he put things away. He'd give Gibbs a few days to recover from his bronchitis and adjust to the new drug, then would start with the reprogramming again.**

******************

**It worked better than he had hoped. Gibbs had become less combative and more confused as to who he was and what his past life had been like as the days went by. Jonathan never called him Jethro anymore. Only John. **

**"Eat your meal, John."**

**Gibbs forced himself to eat the sandwich and apple. He never had much of an appetite, but did as he was told. Jonathan always insisted he had to eat. Also always made sure he was clean shaven and washed. He'd given Gibbs a rechargeable electric razor to keep at the sink, along with the toiletries necessary to keep himself clean. Jonathan also provided him with clean shorts daily. At least he assumed it was daily since he had no way of keeping track of time or days.**

**Gibbs never questioned these things anymore. He used to wonder why Jonathan was such a stickler about him eating and being clean while at the same time torturing, and drugging him senseless. He guessed he didn't want a filthy prisoner and maybe he should at least be grateful for that.**

**"Why do I call you John?"**

**Gibbs finished and put the remnants of his meal through the hinged slot in the door. In a weary voice he answered, "'Cause you think I'm like you."**

**"You are like me, John. Why shouldn't you share a part of my name?"**

**Gibbs shook his head and ran a hand over his dry, tired eyes. Rarely was he allowed to sleep for more than a few hours at a time and was in a constant state of exhaustion. "No… Yes." He couldn't get his mind to think the way he wanted. It was like he no longer had the ability to disbelieve anything Jonathan told him, even though a part of him thought he should. **

**"You said we're all alone. That there's nobody else to care about us or what happens to us." But there was a nagging doubt, a memory he knew was there but couldn't get a hold of. There had to be somebody. But Jonathan had told him he would never lie to him. So he had to be telling the truth. Were there no friends, no family? Was Jonathan all he had?**

**"And do you think we care if nobody cares about us, John?" Jonathan asked with a smirk. "Hell no! Other people are nothing but mindless, pathetic scum. Not worthy of individuals such as us. Only there for us to use as we see fit."**

**Jonathan studied his subject as he spoke. Until recently, Gibbs would immediately disagree with his views with a disgusted look on his pale face. Now he didn't argue and had a mild look of curiosity. **

**He continued. "We've both had to deal with the worst people society has to offer. They rape and murder, but we both—deep down—know we're capable of doing the same. We've both killed with no regrets. We've both used women for sex. That's about the only thing they're capable of, isn't it, John?"**

**Gibbs didn't answer, but let the information whirl around in his mind. He heard the door open behind him, but didn't bother acknowledging it. He no longer had the fight left in him to stop the injections. The taser and drugs had broken him of that. **

**Jonathan gave him the shot, then rubbed the area gently with his thumb, even though Gibbs hadn't shown any pain at all. "You think about what I've said, John. I'll be back in a little while."**

**The building they were in was a two-story farm house with more than adequate space to house the glass cell in the basement, a well-equipped laboratory in what used to be the living and dining rooms, a kitchen, and his bedroom on the second floor.**

**Jonathan returned to his lab. He had a computer monitor set up to be able to watch Gibbs's every move. He could tell his subject was thinking as he paced the interior of the cell. Jonathan smiled. He had finally worn through the man's resistance. He queued up a music selection on his computer and pressed the enter key. He watched as Gibbs looked up at a speaker in his cell when he heard the soft, relaxing music start, then start pacing again.**

**He waited until he noticed Gibbs becoming more sluggish, eventually sitting down against a wall and leaning his head back against it. Jonathan returned to the basement and the cell.**

**He entered the cell and squatted down near Gibbs. Even though he still kept Gibbs in the handcuffs and chain, he no longer felt any threat of attack.**

**"What is your name?"**

**Jethro opened bleary eyes that showed an amount of confusion. He had to think a moment before responding, "Je… John."**

*********** _(__**Note: To avoid confusion, I will refer to him as John from here out.)**_

"It's John," he replied to the officer, refusing to be intimidated by the cop's closeness.

"John what?"

He thought a moment. He really had no idea what his last name was. Blinking away his confusion, he answered, "Just John."

Angry, the older cop pressed the end of his baton against John's stomach. John winced as the cop hissed, "I'm not in the mood for games this morning, _John. _Give me your last name and show some ID."

John was getting very ticked off with the officer. _Who the hell does he think he is?_

"Don't have a last name and don't have any ID. Now get that fucking stick out of my gut before I ram it down your damn throat!"

"Why you—" The cop raised the baton to strike John's head.

John grabbed the man's arm with his left hand and with his right punched the officer's nose hard. He felt it break as blood spurt from it. The younger officer looked on in shock for a second before making a grab for John.

John was quicker and punched the young cop in the gut, bending the man in half. He then clasped his hands together and struck him between the shoulder blades. The cop fell to the ground, moaning and holding his stomach. The older officer was holding his nose and cursing a blue streak. He had dropped his baton and was looking for it. John took the advantage, knocked him to the ground and took off running.

He ran down the alley, crossed a two-lane street and down that to another intersection. He was out of shape from his prolonged captivity and his legs and lungs were burning. But he kept running, not knowing where he was going until he couldn't run any further.

He limped down another deserted alley and collapsed next to a trash dumpster out of sight from the street. He was sweating, breathing hard and held a hand to his aching chest. He moaned and his eyes squeezed shut at the sharp pain. It took several minutes for him to get his breath back to normal and for the pain to dissipate to a minor ache. He rubbed the area over his heart till the pain disappeared completely.

The pain scared him. He'd felt it before but never this bad. But he realized he hadn't run like that recently either. John rested there for a little while wondering why Jonathan had dumped him on these city streets. He didn't even know what city.

His memories of recent events were clearing from the exercise and deep breathing. Jonathan had said it was time to test him out in the real world. He had been slowly weaned off the drugs over the past couple of weeks. His mind had been slowly clearing from its perpetual fog, and he had been becoming much more alert. The last injection, he now remembered, was to put him to sleep. _That's why I was so groggy earlier, _he figured.

Standing back up, he took stock of his situation. He was alone in an unknown city and would have to be careful to avoid policemen thanks to the jackasses he'd just encountered. He was moneyless—_no wait_—he remembered Jonathan slipping something into his pants pocket. He dug into it and pulled out some cash. Ten dollars and some change. _That won't last long._ He searched his other pockets; found a comb in his back pocket and, to his surprise, a cell phone in his jacket pocket. _Maybe I'm not so alone._ He eventually found the phone book on it, but there were no entries listed.

"Guess he'll call me," he muttered to himself, putting it back in his pocket.

Sighing, he started walking out of the alley in the opposite direction from where he'd come. Turning the corner, he started passing the plate glass window of a store and stopped. The store's window display had a large mirror just inside. John hadn't seen a good reflection of himself since… well, he couldn't remember when. He already knew he was pale, but it was still a shock to see how much his face needed some sunlight. His silver hair hung about an inch below the bottom of his collar in back and below his ears on the sides. It felt unnatural to him to see it that long and wondered if he should get it cut; but he wouldn't waste his money on something trivial like that.

John kept walking till he came upon a newspaper box. _Arlington Sun Gazette. _At least now he knew where he was. He looked at the date—_Tuesday, April 13, 2004_. He thought a moment wondering when the last time was he knew the date. _Who gives a damn anyway! _he thought, not remembering.

It was frustrating, knowing so little. He sat down on a bench and watched people as they passed by. They all knew where they were going, they had a purpose. What was his? Was he just supposed to walk the streets by day and sleep in alleys at night? The thought of sleeping on the cold, hard ground was something he did not want to consider. He'd done enough of that. John wanted a real bed. But that wasn't going to happen with only ten dollars to his name.

Unless he got imaginative.

Since being weaned off the high dosages of the drugs he'd been given and becoming more aware of things, he was also getting his appetite back. His grumbling stomach reminded him it was breakfast time. He'd lost weight over the past months and his clothes were a size or two too big. If he ate more, like he'd been doing recently, it wouldn't take long to fill them out. He didn't know if the clothes he was wearing were his, something old of Jonathan's or from a second-hand store, but he was still grateful to have them.

Breakfast… his eyes roamed the street for possibilities. There was a diner a few doors down, a Burger King across the street, and a convenience store next to it. The diner would probably take most, if not all, of his cash. Burger King was tempting, but he smiled when he thought of the possibilities of the convenience store.

He walked through the store's doors, noting they didn't have the shoplifting detectors inside the doorway. He walked slowly up and down a couple of the aisles, as if searching for something in particular. His hand was barely noticeable as it reached out to grab the small pack of donuts that went into his jacket pocket. The clerk was busy and never noticed when John stuffed the hot, precooked sausage and egg breakfast sandwich into the other pocket. He coughed and made himself noticed, however, when he stopped at the coffee station and poured himself a large cup.

"Find everything okay?" the young male clerk asked when John stepped up to the counter.

"Not really, but this will do," John told him sitting the cup of coffee on the counter.

The clerk didn't even bother asking what it might have been his customer was looking for, he didn't particularly care, he just took the ten dollar bill John gave him and rang up the change.

John smirked and shook his head at the stupidity of the clerk as he walked out the door. He went back to the bench he'd sat on earlier and ate his well-earned breakfast.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Fading Away**

**By SherryGabs**

**Rated: T**

Thanks to Dark Rolling Sea for being a fine beta. And also thanks to those that have reviewed and set this to story alerts.

**Chapter 10**

John roamed the streets of Arlington, Virginia all that day. The modern downtown business area to the more historic districts and finally to the waterfront of the Potomac River. He had hoped Jonathan would call, but the phone remained silent all day. John had skipped lunch to conserve money, and by the time dusk started falling he definitely wanted food. He blew most of his cash on a cheeseburger, fries and coffee.

He now found himself sitting against a concrete bridge pillar, well into the evening, exhausted and getting colder by the minute. The bridge spanned the Potomac and he could see the lights of Washington on the other side. He thought maybe he'd walk across the bridge tomorrow and see what DC had to offer. In the meantime, he sat there shivering, silently cursing that April could get so cold at night. He might have been better off away from the river, but was too tired from walking all day to muster up the energy it would take to walk back to the business district.

Looking around he studied the few small buildings that were nearby. The businesses were closed by this time and would be empty. Several hundred feet away was a boarded-up two-story building he could see because of the street lamp near the corner of it. Figuring he'd at least be out of the wind, John forced himself to stand and walked the distance to the building. He tried the steel front door, but it was solidly locked. Walking along the front of the building and around the corner, he tried pushing on the boarded-up windows until he found one that moved easily. Slipping inside and letting the board fall back into place, John turned around and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Some light from the street lamp was able to slip through cracks and seams and he could see that others had used this building for the same purpose. Empty liquor bottles, squashed cigarette packs and all sorts of trash littered much of the floor. The smell of the place left something to be desired; mold, mildew, garbage, urine, who knew what else.

It was only slightly warmer in here than outside. John blew into his hands, trying to warm them, then rubbed his arms briskly. Walking over to a stack of old beat up wooden pallets near the center of the floor, he figured this would be a good enough place as any to go to sleep. He had to kick a couple of syringes and old food wrappers away before sitting and leaning against the pallets. As much as John wanted to lay down, he thought the floor too disgusting. Settling into a somewhat comfortable position, John closed his eyes and within minutes was asleep.

He was roused sometime later by a noise. His tired mind soon recognized it as singing—very bad singing. Lifting his head and stretching out a forming kink in his neck, John watched as an old man in a dirty, tattered parka carrying a large trash bag more than half full of who-knows-what walked away from the same window he himself had entered through and continued on with an unsteady gait to the wall at the front of the building. He was singing an old song in a grating slurred voice not taking any notice of John, who wasn't looking forward to company and remained silent.

The old man found a spot he liked and dropped to his knees with a grunt. His singing stopped and he began quietly rambling on about something John couldn't understand. He reached into his trash bag and pulled out a section of newspaper. Separating the sheets, he laid them down on the floor obviously to sleep on. The next thing he pulled out of his bag made John's eyes widen with interest. It was a thick quilted bed covering, worn and frayed looking, but not torn or incredibly filthy. The man's voice quieted as he laid down, used the trash bag as a pillow and covered himself with the bedspread. He snorted a couple of times before sleep claimed him. Moments later he was snoring loudly.

John stared at the bedspread with greed in his eyes. He reasoned the bum had on a parka which was much warmer than the denim jacket he wore. _He doesn't need both. _He waited several minutes until he knew the drunk old man was deeply asleep then got up and quietly made his way over.

John carefully lifted the bedspread off the man. As he was about to go back to his spot, he noticed something silver sticking out of the parka's pocket. Making sure the bum was still sound asleep, John lifted the item from its hiding place. It was an eight ounce silver flask, half full. He had to bring the flask close to his eyes to be able to read the inscription on it.

_De Nang_

_1969_

_**Semper Fi**_

So, either the bum was a veteran or he stole it from one, but that meant nothing to John. He unscrewed the cap and wiped the opening with his sleeve. Taking a couple of swallows he winced as the cheap whiskey burned his throat, then closed and pocketed the flask. He sighed in appreciation as the whiskey warmed his stomach and took the cover back to his spot. With the bedspread wrapped around him like a cocoon, he deemed it safe to lay down on the dirty concrete floor. Using his arm for a pillow he reveled in comfort and soon fell asleep again.

John woke early, not used to getting long hours of sleep. He was warm and it felt good. He let himself lay there for several minutes before finally untangling himself from the cover. The sudden cool air sent a chill up his spine and he shivered. Standing up, John glanced over to where the old man still lay sleeping and noticed he was shivering. He briefly thought of how nice it would be to have that bedspread again the next night, but didn't want the hassle of carrying it around all day. Knowing he would regret it later, John tossed the bedspread carelessly over the man, not rousing him at all. His thoughts went to his full bladder and without a thought found relief in a dank corner before climbing through the boarded window to the early morning sunrise.

***********

John walked the bridge that crossed the Potomac and entered the city of Washington. He spent most of what money he had left on a large coffee while pocketing a cheese danish from a convenience store. All he had left now was some change that wouldn't even buy him a pack of gum.

By the end of the morning John was made truly aware of what a cesspool the downtown area of our nation's capital really was. Prostitutes were already out strutting their wares; he might have been tempted if he'd had the money. He'd seen two drug deals, and the beginnings of a fight or an assault as he walked by an alley. The amount of homeless wandering around made him angry. It wasn't an anger derived from pity but rather from wondering why a lot of these people couldn't do better for themselves. He remembered things Jonathan had told him about people and how useless and clueless they could be. He could believe it by some of the things he was witnessing.

As the afternoon wore on John would walk slowly and aimlessly, having nowhere specific to go. At times he would sit or stand and wonder if he should be _doing_ something. One of these times he'd been sitting on a bench outside a small hardware store. The owner had known he'd been there a while and when he came out to sweep the sidewalk outside his door he told John to move on, that his bench was for paying customers. When John just glared at him and didn't move the man held up his broom.

"Listen you bum, either you get outta here or I call the cops!"

John smirked. "Really? Seems to me this bench is on a public sidewalk, so anyone can sit on it. And who are you calling a bum?"

"You! I can tell a bum when I see one." The shorter, but stocky man didn't seem a bit intimidated and held his broom handle closer to John's face. This irked John, who stood up.

"You know, I _really_ hate it when people stick things in my face," he drawled slowly and menacingly.

"Yeah? What're ya gonna do 'bout it?" he challenged.

John just growled a second before snatching the broom from the man's hands. He held it as if here were about to swing it and the man backed off, surprised at how quick it had happened.

"This is what I'm gonna do." Making it look as if he were going to swing it at the now frightened store owner, he instead smashed it into the door frame, breaking the handle in half. He threw the remaining piece at the man's feet. He then got into his face and looked him in the eye.

"Be glad that wasn't your arm."

John walked off seething. _How dare he call me a bum! I _should've _busted his damn arm!_

The anger stayed with him. He didn't like being compared to the people who lived on the streets, but couldn't deny that he was doing the exact same thing. _What the hell am I doing here? _

John eventually found himself in a park, still pissed off. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to release some of his frustration and confusion on something hard. A trash can turned out to be the victim. He kicked it over and over, breaking through the wooden frame holding it. He was breathing heavy by the time he lifted the metal can out of the busted frame and tossed it as far as he could, spreading trash in its wake.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing!?"

John turned to see a park maintenance worker coming towards him. He stopped several feet short of John, worried about his safety. But John closed the distance himself quickly. He sucker-punched the worker in the face who landed on his back in the grass. He was about to hit him again when he heard a woman scream and a child start crying. Looking up and around John saw several people staring at him wide-eyed and shocked. Two were on cell phones and he was sure they were calling the police.

"Shit!" he cursed quietly to himself and took off running. He didn't stop till his lungs began reminding him of how out of shape he was. The chest pain was intense for a moment, but soon soothed itself down. He'd only gone a few blocks and after resting a couple of minutes kept going in the same direction. It had felt good to beat up the trash can and punch the guy, but now he felt beat up himself. He took the flask out of his jacket pocket and took a couple of swigs. Replacing the flask, John felt himself too warm after his recent workout and took the jacket off. He tied the sleeves around his waist and began rolling up his right shirt sleeve.

He knew the scars would be there on his wrist, a reminder of his months in captivity. The left wrist held the same type of scars, but also a different one. A horizontal line a little below the scars from the handcuffs, and evidence of how it had been stitched closed.

**************

**"Are you afraid of death?"**

**He looked at Jonathan like he was crazy and thought to himself that he would welcome it. It was still fairly early on in his time there. Still wanting to be rebellious and uncooperative, but knew he was better off just answering all the damn questions. He did not want a repeat of that morning's repercussions.**

**"No, I'm not afraid to die."**

**"You have faced death many, many times during your career," Jonathan went on. "Did you ever hope or wish that the next time would be the final time? Did you ever think a particular case would be the last straw and if a bullet came at you, you would do nothing to avoid it?"**

**He closed his eyes and thought of several times he didn't think he'd be able to go on after a particularly bad case. He nodded his head in affirmation.**

**"Look at me." Jonathan squatted down, eye level. "Have you ever **_**tried**_** to kill yourself?" He knew from the agent's history that he was prone to occasional bouts of depression and after hearing the last admission was sure that the answer to this question would be positive. He suppressed a smile when John's head nodded again.**

**"Tell me about it."**

**John looked away again. He didn't want to tell Jonathan about the most personal and traumatic time of his life, but forced himself to. He slowly told the story of his wife and daughter's murders. Of how he'd been severely injured and after being released from a two-month long hospital stay, marking the end of his military career, that he'd gone to their graves and thought he couldn't live with the pain and guilt. He told of the day on the beach, sitting on the rocks and aiming a gun at his face, but unable to pull the trigger.**

**"What stopped you?" Jonathan wanted to know.**

**John sighed. "I thought of how pissed off Shannon would have been that I'd given up. My little Kelly had always looked to me as her hero," he shrugged. "I couldn't stand the thought of her being disappointed in me."**

**"What about the times since then? You've admitted you thought about it."**

**"But I never **_**tried**_** it again!" John insisted, pulling back from his memories.**

**"For the same reason?"**

**"No." John rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Those times had nothing to do with them. I just get so damn tired and frustrated. Sometimes, after certain cases that get to me, I just feel that I'm not doing something right. I'm not making any difference. I put one bad guy away and another takes his place."**

**"A never-ending cycle." Jonathan stated.**

**"Not always. Most of the time I feel satisfied at the end of a case, but other times…" He took a long, deep breath. "I just can't get over what people can do to other people and I just wish it would all end."**

**"What do you do to keep yourself from actually ending it?" Jonathan already knew that John used boat building as a relaxation technique from observing him before kidnapping him, but wanted to know if there was more.**

**"Get drunk and work on my boats till I'm exhausted enough to sleep." John shifted his position on the floor so he could hug his knees. "Sometimes, my coworkers—my friends—keep me from falling too far if I'm being too obvious. One of them will stay with me and try to make me talk and make sure I eat instead of drink my meals. Don't know what might have happened if it wasn't for them."**

_**God, I miss them! **_**He thought to himself. **

**"You've been very open and honest with me this afternoon. I appreciate it."**

**He knew his prisoner was thinking of his coworkers, missing them, and wanted him to stew in loneliness for a while. They would get back to this subject soon enough and Jonathan would want to see just how far he could push his prisoner.**

****************

John rubbed the scar on his left wrist and remembered how Jonathan had rode him particularly hard one day with his comments, questions and torture. Afterward, he lay on the floor in absolute misery, both body and mind. He sensed the presence above him and opened his eyes. Jonathan stood there holding a pocket knife.

*************

**John stared at the knife a moment, then back at Jonathan. His eyes pleaded and his mouth could only whisper, "Do it."**

**Jonathan smiled that sick, knowing smile of his and shook his head. "No. You do it." He dropped the knife on the floor next to John. "Show me you're not afraid to die."**

**John smiled, seeing what was happening, but he was beyond caring. "Even if this is part of your game to test my limits, I don't care. It's better than being stuck with you in this hellhole!"**

**He picked the knife up with his right hand and put the blade against his left wrist. He was weak, but the blade was sharp and it didn't take much effort to slice through his skin deeply. He was about to do the same to his right, but Jonathan knocked the knife from his hand.**

**"You surprise me. I'd have thought it would take more than that to get you to try it." He lifted the bleeding wrist up and watched fascinated as the blood flowed down the arm, running off his elbow and onto the floor. He dropped the arm and took a syringe out of his pocket.**

**"But I'm not done with you yet." Jonathan pushed the syringe into John's right shoulder.**

**"No!" John hissed. "Damn you, bastard! Let me die!" The last words were hitched as he felt himself being pulled down into unconsciousness. **

**When he awoke, his left wrist was bandaged heavily in gauze. He was weak and groggy, but awake enough to hear Jonathan tell him that it was his own fault. For being so weak.**

**And John believed him.**

***************

_I'm not weak! Not anymore. _Jonathan had shown him he could be strong. Strong enough to not let people get to him. Not allow them to see him for anything less than he thought himself to be. To not let people walk all over him, but to show them who was the strongest, the most fierce.

John believed him.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Fading Away**

**By SherryGabs**

**Rated: T**

**Chapter 11**

Even with a mild afternoon, the temperature dipped down into the low thirties that night. John shivered as he sat wedged between the brick wall of a building and a large overturned cardboard box. He wasn't alone. Inside the box was a passed-out middle-aged Hispanic, Luis, who'd been generous enough to share his bourbon and provided John with a pack of peanut butter crackers. Said he'd gotten them from a church soup kitchen and that they usually handed out little things like that as people left. John asked where the church was and Luis told him of that one and a couple of others that served meals.

John had tried stealing his dinner that day, but the two places he'd tried had employees that kept a watchful eye on him from the moment he entered their stores. So he'd spent the day hungry until he'd come across Luis. The Hispanic man was like many of the others John had encountered, but he had a sense of humor that John actually seemed to warm up to. Luis was half strung-out on some drug John could only guess at, probably crack, but he kept on with a long string of jokes and puns that brought slight smiles to John's face, despite his usual spiteful attitude.

As John slept that night he dreamt of nameless blurred faces. He found himself laughing at something one said about a date he'd been on. Then another one, a female voice, was telling the first his date had just been a wet dream. They went on. The faces had no features; the voices familiar, yet not. The many faces changed to that of only Jonathan, telling him he had no friends, no one to trust but each other.

His eyes shot open. He sensed a presence before he could see it. His dream already forgotten, it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the small amount of light coming into the alley. Someone was close.

A few someones as it turned out. Three young men, gang colors showing proudly, talking quietly as they used the alley for a shortcut. One of them turned his head as they walked by and caught John's eye. He looked John up and down with a look of disgust on his face and spat on the ground, chuckling.

John started getting up to go after the punk when he heard Luis's voice. "Don't!" he whispered harshly. "They'll slice you up into confetti. Just let it go, man."

John's eyes were blazing watching the trio get further away. He slapped his hand against the wall next to him in anger, knowing Luis was probably right.

Luis chuckled. "Could tell you were new to the streets. Least you're payin' 'tention. Gotta sleep with one eye open 'round here." He handed John his bourbon bottle. "Here, you finish this. Make you feel better."

John looked surprised at first, then shrugged. He wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. He first refilled his empty flask and then swallowed down the little amount left in the bottle. Luis was already wheezing in his sleep as John settled back down as comfortable as he could get.

He knew he would have to come up with some way to get money. This sleeping in alleys was something he wasn't going to get used to and he didn't like being hungry. Jonathan had expected him to be able to take care of himself and he thought he was doing a pretty pathetic job of it. John pressed his fingers against the cell phone in his pocket, willing it to ring. _Why hasn't he called? Where the hell is he? _His feelings about Jonathan were confusing. He actually _missed _having Jonathan's presence around. Since he'd woken up in that alley in Arlington, he'd felt uncomfortable being around all these people. He wanted the solitude he'd gotten used to, but it couldn't be found in the streets.

He should be glad to be away from the man who'd caused him so much pain and anguish. But there was a part of himself that had come to understand Jonathan's attitude, his point-of-view. John believed everything Jonathan told him without giving himself any time to think things over on his own. Just took his word as truth.

Maybe he just wanted Jonathan to tell him what he should do.

************

When John awoke in the morning his chest felt heavy and a hard bout of coughing left him red-faced, dizzy, and breathless for a moment. He was shivering and nausea churned in his empty stomach. After a moment it became too much and he gagged. Quickly getting on his hands and knees, he heaved but there was nothing to bring up except stomach acid. He coughed again and managed to spit out a gob of greenish phlegm.

He grimaced as he sat back down again to catch his breath and held his arm over his stomach.

"Hey, man, you okay?"

John found Luis looking at him worriedly as he crawled out of the cardboard box. Not wanting anyone to see him weak, he nodded, indicating he was fine.

"Yeah, I can see that," Luis said knowingly. "Listen, Juan, you start spittin' up red or brown, you get to the free clinic on 7th Street. They'll fix you up good. 'Kay?"

"You know where everything is, don't ya?" John asked, wondering why the guy seemed to care about him at all.

"Been out here a loooong time," Luis chuckled, getting to his feet. "You take care of yourself, Juan. Maybe I see you again."

"Maybe," John answered. He almost added "Take care of yourself, too." But for some reason held back. He doubted he'd run across Luis again anyway.

John waited a few minutes before making himself get up. At least walking around would warm him up some, he figured. His body ached to the bone, but he forced himself to keep moving. He stopped at a gas station to use the restroom and rinse his mouth out with water, wishing he had a toothbrush. The mirror let him know he needed a shave and his nose told him he needed a shower and clean clothes. But there was nothing he could do about that now. He knew these were the reasons that kept him under surveillance whenever he entered a store. He spent the last of his change on a small coffee on the way out of the gas station. The girl behind the counter looked frightened of him, so John gave her a cold stare before leaving.

He walked around a couple of hours before stopping to sit a while in a small park. He was still coughing and spitting out small amounts of gunk, but his chest didn't feel as heavy as it had earlier. Sitting against a tree trunk John laid his head back against it and closed his eyes. Not realizing he'd fallen asleep, he jerked awake when the cell phone in his pocket rang shrilly.

Knowing it could only be Jonathan, he fumbled for it and answered on the fourth ring. "Yeah?"

"Enjoying the sun, John?"

He coughed again but the tightness in his chest wasn't so much from congestion, than relief.

"Where are you?"

"Look to your left on the street. Black Cherokee. Come over and get in." Jonathan hung up.

John got up, ignoring the slight lightheaded feeling that had plagued him occasionally that morning and made his way over to the SUV, getting into the passenger side. He had to wonder how Jonathan found him.

Jonathan looked him over and shook his head. "You look like hell and you stink." Taking a closer look at his pet project he noticed signs of illness. "Are you sick?"

"Think I caught a cold last night." He shrugged it off and asked the questions that had been burning in him. "Where have you been? How did you know where to find me?"

Jonathan ignored him and put his hand to John's forehead and felt the warmth. "You have a fever." He suspected bronchitis again. "You've been sleeping in the streets. Why?"

"Not enough money for a room." John could see the obvious question on Jonathan's face and answered. "But I know I need to do something to get some. I don't want to spend another night in the cold." He silently admitted it reminded him too much of punishments inflicted on him.

Satisfied for the time being, Jonathan answered John's questions. "I gave you a couple of days to see how you could cope out on your own. There's a GPS locator in the phone, that's how I tracked you."

Jonathan had had every intention of following John around the previous day, but a call from an old friend who needed his services prevented him from doing just that. It was these little jobs that kept him financed to work on his research and projects, like the one sitting next to him. He never asked questions of why, or to whom, his particular kind of service was needed. He knew better than to cross people like that. But when Jonathan was asked to help out with an interrogation or to break someone with drugs and psychology, he didn't turn them down because he was paid a very handsome price for a few hours work.

Jonathan put the Cherokee in gear and drove away from the curb. He pointed to a large styrofoam cup of coffee in the cup holder. "You can have that."

John lifted the cup and inhaled some steam before taking small sips. He relished the heat as it traveled down his esophagus and into his gnawing stomach, ignoring the small cramps it caused.

"Have you eaten today?" Jonathan asked. John just shook his head negatively as he took a larger swallow.

"What about yesterday?"

John shrugged. "Took a danish from a store yesterday morning, had some crackers last night."

"That's not enough! You couldn't figure out a way to get more?"

John couldn't tell if Jonathan's attitude was concern or just anger. "I tried! It's not easy to steal something when the clerks are watching you like a hawk."

Jonathan reached over and lightly slapped John's stubbly cheek. "You're not trying hard enough!"

"Okay, okay," John muttered. He knew Jonathan was right. It had been grilled into him that if he was expected to survive, he had to do whatever it took to make that happen.

"So what _have _you been doing?" Jonathan wanted to know if John had been acting out in ways Jethro Gibbs wouldn't have. "Besides shoplifting danishes," he added mockingly.

John knew the doctor didn't want to hear he'd just been walking around aimlessly for the most part. He wanted to hear that John had been proving himself capable of being cold and ruthless when needed. Taking another long swallow of his coffee, John looked out the window instead of meeting Jonathan's eyes. He didn't think he had a whole lot to tell.

"The first morning I beat up a couple of cops who were razzing me. I took a blanket from an old bum to keep warm night before last. Almost busted a broom handle over an asshole's head yesterday because he said I couldn't sit on a public bench. Then I punched a guy just cuz it felt good."

Jonathan hid his smile. _That's more like it. This is working out as well as I'd hoped so far. _He studied John's profile, noting the fevered ill look and docile manner. Maybe John didn't think he'd been impressive, but Jonathan was quite pleased. He even went so far as to squeeze John's shoulder.

"You're doing very well, John."

John looked at the hand on his shoulder and unconsciously leaned into it. "Then why are people looking at me like I'm scum? Why am I hungry? Why am I sleeping in freezing alleys? I wouldn't say I'm doing very fucking well at all!"

"Then do something about it." Jonathan retrieved his hand noticing John's sigh at doing so. "I'm sure you can find a way to finagle food and shelter. Just takes some thought and concentrated action. Wheedle it, steal it, whatever."

"I know." John muttered. He put the coffee cup down and rubbed his eyes and face. He really didn't feel all that well. He couldn't have imagined himself being in this position before his stay with Jonathan. He knew he couldn't have because he really had no idea of what to do with himself. But trying to think too far back only brought confusion and a headache.

"If you just wanna drop me off somewhere, I'll get to work on something."

Jonathan thought on that while studying John's face and demeanor. He was obviously ill and the thought of him getting worse and landing in a hospital; and doctors with their questions and tests would cause some major complications.

"Not yet. I'm going to take you back home and give you a shot of antibiotic and let you get cleaned up."

_Home? _John's dread at that thought sent his heartbeat and blood pressure upward. _Please not that glass cage. Not again._

Jonathan noticed that John's breathing had picked up and his fists were clenched. It was easy enough for him to figure out the reason.

"I won't put you back in the cell." He paused a few seconds. "As long as you're honest and up front with me."

The words weren't very reassuring. "About what?" John asked tightly.

"Have you had any other problems besides the coughing and fever?"

John forced himself to calm down and think back. The only thing he could think of was the chest pains and those _had_ scared him.

"I had to run a couple of times, and after both times I had some bad chest pain."

Jonathan's hands tightened on the steering wheel. _Damn!_ He thought he'd had that problem solved.

"Did your heart race?"

John looked over at hearing the intensity of the voice. _Was he worried? _"Yeah, but it slowed down and the pain went away after a few minutes. I'm just out of shape."

Jonathan was wondering if that could be a simple possibility. It's not as if he'd given John an exercise regimen while he was held captive. But he couldn't keep his mind from going back to previous experiments with prisoners. That was how they had died—tachycardic arrhythmia, leading to cardiac arrest, leading to death. Because of these deaths, he'd lost his licenses, lost his credibility and influence, and lost his wife to divorce.

He wasn't even aware of the fact that he'd lost part of his mind too.

Jonathan had been certain he'd formulated this latest series of drugs to not lead to eventual cardiac arrest. John had not shown any symptoms previously, but he had not been aerobically active. He'd done sit-ups, push-ups, etc. when bored, but nothing that would really exercise his heart and lungs. And he had survived months longer than the others.

Perhaps it _was_ due to the fact that John was too far out of shape. Jonathan let his mind ease with the thought. _Yes, my formulas are fine. They're just fine. _He let out a breath of relief. He only intended to use John for a short time more anyway. After that he didn't care what happened to the marine who'd been a hard one to make change. His usual type of patient was much easier to deal with.

"When we get home I'll check your lungs and heart, but I'm sure you're right about just being out of shape." Jonathan lifted the coffee cup up and handed it back to John. "Finish this."

John took the cup and did as he was told.

TBC

_tachycardic arrhythmia_—fast, irregular heartbeat

That's if I deciphered my medical dictionary correctly :P


	12. Chapter 12

**Fading Away**

**By SherryGabs**

**Rated: T**

**Small spoiler for SWAK.**

**Several readers have asked when John/Gibbs is going to _finally_ be found by the team. It should be in chapter 13. Yippee! Thanks for all the great reviews.**

**Chapter 12**

It took close to an hour to arrive at the isolated old farmhouse. Jonathan had never lied to him as far as John could tell; but he was still cautious entering the house, afraid Jonathan would find a reason to go back on his word about not putting him back in that prison.

John had never seen any part of the house other than the glass cell. Jonathan made him take his shoes off at the back door then led him through the kitchen towards the stairs. John glanced at the odd equipment in the rooms to his right. Lots of scientific equipment, computers, things he'd never seen before nor would have any idea of what to do with.

"Up here," Jonathan instructed him to follow up the stairs and into the bathroom.

"Give me your clothes and I'll wash them while you shower."

John didn't think twice about removing his foul clothing in front of Jonathan since he'd done so often before. He first removed the flask and cell phone from his pockets and put them on the sink. Jonathan picked up the flask and read the insignia while John stripped.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, opening it and smelling the bourbon inside. His nose wrinkled at the smell of cheap booze.

"Took it from the guy I stole the blanket from."

"Hmm," Jonathan murmured as though pleased. He put the flask back down and picked up the cell phone. "I might as well charge this." He then opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out an electric razor. "Use this to shave. After you're done with your shower, come straight back down to the kitchen. I'll make you lunch and give you a check-up."

John nodded, handing the other man his clothing before he turned and left the room, leaving the door open. Even though he was feverish, the thought of real food sent his stomach rumbling to the nth degree. With slightly shaky hands he ran the razor over his face before stepping into the shower.

The hot water felt incredible on his soiled skin. He let the hot water flow over him for a few minutes before lathering shampoo through his hair and soaping up his body thoroughly. He didn't think he could get clean enough.

That's when a sudden vision assaulted his mind. He could see himself in a shower, covered in soap. Others were nearby, also showering.

_"It could be small pox, bubonic plague, cholera…" _

_"Probie!"_

_"Foot powder, face powder, talcum powder."_

_"Honey Dust!"_

_"Honey Dust?" _

_"Honey Dust. I give it to girls – women, sorry, Kate. I give it to women at Christmas time. Very sensuous. You apply it with a feather."_

Though the voices were clear in his mind, he didn't know where they came from. _Who is Kate? Who were the others? _The more he tried to think on it the more confused he became. It was like there was a wall between him and what he wanted to see, the wall too high and wide to see around.

John gave up his thoughts as his body reminded him it wasn't in top shape. He was feeling tired, weak, and hungry. Knowing there would soon be food to fill his empty stomach, he quickly rinsed.

He dried with one towel and tied a second around his slim waist. Knowing how meticulous Jonathan was, he replaced the first towel as it had originally hung and cleaned up whatever whiskers had fallen into the sink. He grabbed the flask from the sink, the 'Semper Fi' catching his eye. A niggling thought came that the phrase should mean something to him, but after a moment he just put the thought down to seeing the common words elsewhere before.

John was once again coughing as he came barefoot down the stairs and made his way into the kitchen. He swallowed at the smell coming from a pot of soup that was warming on the stove while Jonathan was putting the finishing touches on a couple of sandwiches.

"Sit down, John. I want to give you an antibiotic first," Jonathan instructed as he finished the sandwiches and grabbed a syringe and bottle of ibuprofen from the countertop.

John sat down and barely flinched when the needle penetrated his upper arm.

"This is a strong antibiotic. It should knock out the worst of any infection you have." He handed John three of the ibuprofen along with a glass of juice from the table. "This will reduce your fever fairly quickly."

John swallowed the pills relishing the taste of the orange juice. A moment later a turkey sandwich and bowl of vegetable soup in chicken broth was laid down in front of him. He waited till Jonathan nodded his approval before digging in.

Jonathan sat across from him and also ate while studying his patient. While he considered his work with John to be mostly a success, he still had to wonder if John would go beyond simple shoplifting or punching someone out of anger. Did he have it in him to show more violence, more insensitive brutality? While he'd been off the drugs for about a week now, he showed no obvious signs of reverting back to the stubborn ex-marine, special agent, law-abiding Gibbs. Jonathan also needed to know if any memories were trying to work their way past the block he'd put up.

He took a napkin from its holder on the table and pushed it across the table with his fingertip. John took the que and used it to wipe the broth from his chin.

"What's been going through your mind the past couple of days?" Jonathan asked, using the voice John recognized as the 'therapist' voice.

John took a swallow of juice while thinking. He thought of what he'd visioned in the shower and a twitch in his gut told him it might not be a good idea to share that. Keeping his eyes down, he absent-mindedly stirred his soup.

"Not much. I did a lot of people watching. Wondered how the street people got to be where they were. Why they didn't just stop drinking or getting high and make themselves a better life."

"Easier said than done," Jonathan pointed out. "Many of them have severe emotional problems. Do you think that's an excuse?"

"I think if they really wanted to, they could find a way to pull their shit together. There's places around they can go to for help." John dropped the spoon noisily and picked up the last bit of sandwich, popping it in his mouth.

The slight upturn of the corners of his mouth indicated Jonathan's approval of the answer. "What else have you been thinking of?"

John swallowed before answering. "That I really hate it when people look at me like I'm nothing more than dirt."

"What does that make you want to do?"

"Slap their heads off!"

John froze as another vision entered his mind. He saw himself slapping a dark head. More than once.

_"Sorry, Boss!"_

_"Thanks, Boss, I needed that."_

Boss? Once again, he couldn't see the face, or recognize the voice.

"John?"

John looked at Jonathan, hoping his face didn't give away what had just happened.

"What were you just thinking?" Jonathan's eyes were serious. He'd noticed the sudden faraway look in the other man's eyes.

John quickly thought of a suitable answer. "How good it would feel to knock some sense into those condescending jerks." He didn't know why he wanted to keep these visions from Jonathan. His gut was telling him just to keep them to himself. That if Jonathan knew about these, something very bad could happen. At the same time, he felt some guilt at keeping something that could be important from Jonathan. The man always demanded honesty.

Though Jonathan was slightly wary at the reply, he accepted it. He also knew he'd have to be more direct if he wanted to find out if John had been having any memory recall. Knowing that his project responded well to physical touch, Jonathan stood up and placed himself behind John's chair.

"Are you feeling better now that you've had something to eat?" Jonathan placed his hands on John's shoulders and began to rub them, massaging the tense, aching muscles.

"Yeah, a little," John replied. He was relieved that Jonathan had believed his answer and closed his eyes to enjoy the massage. He barely remembered a time when Jonathan's gentle touches made him uncomfortable. Whether it be a massage, such as now; brushing a hand through his silver hair or a pat on the cheek, John had found that after time alone he craved those touches. It was the only human contact he had and he welcomed it. At first, he found them uncomfortable because they were so personal—personal, but never overtly sexual. But he'd grown accustomed to them over time because of the solitude. He needed the human touch.

But he also knew those gentle hands could turn harsh in a heartbeat; therefore, he'd learned to be careful of what he said.

Jonathan could feel John practically melting into his hands. Who would have thought a big, bad marine could turn to putty so easily?

"John, have you been thinking of things from before you knew me?" He couldn't help but feel the shoulders beneath his hands suddenly tense up again.

John opened his eyes, angry at himself for reacting so strongly. "What do you mean?"

"Have you been trying to remember things from your past?"

_Could that have been what I've been seeing? Memories? From when? Where? _He still wanted to keep those to himself, so gave Jonathan at least a half truth.

"I can't. Gives me a headache."

"So you've been trying?" Jonathan's hands dug deeper into the pale skin.

John winced slightly. "No! I mean, yes." _Shit! Get a grip. _"But there's nothing there."

"You're sure?" His hands relaxed slightly.

John nodded. "Yes. Nothing."

"Okay." Jonathan slid his hands off John's shoulders and patted the arms beneath. "Finish your soup while I go put your clothes in the dryer."

He knew he'd just been lied to.

John breathed a sigh of relief after Jonathan walked away. Whatever appetite he had was lost but he worked on finishing the soup anyway.

Jonathan returned a couple of minutes later from the laundry room off the kitchen, but went into the dining room that held most of his lab equipment. John could see him putting things into a doctor's bag, but Jonathan's body blocked whatever they were. He was just finishing the small amount of his lunch left when Jonathan came back in.

"I want to listen to your lungs," he said, pulling a stethoscope from the bag and placed it around his neck. He felt John's forehead. "Your temperature's down." He put the ear pieces of the stethoscope into his ears and put the other end on John's back. "Breathe deep."

By the time Jonathan was done listening to his lungs, John was coughing from the irritation deep breaths produced.

"There's congestion, but the shot I gave you should clear that up. There's no sounds to suggest pneumonia. Now your heart."

Jonathan listened carefully for a moment, then felt an unreasonable surge of anger when he heard the abnormal 'whoosh' sound between heartbeats.

_Goddammit!_

Jonathan kept his features schooled so as not to alert John to any problem. He needed time to think. Time alone.

"Your heart sounds fine. You were right about just being out of shape." He put the stethoscope back in his bag and searched for a vial and syringe.

John had to wonder at the tight tone to Jonathan's voice and his brow furrowed when he saw the doctor filling a syringe with a clear liquid with shaky hands.

"What's that?"

"Just a mild tranquilizer. I want you to get some sleep while your clothes are drying."

"But—" Before John could get the sentence out the needle was plunged into his arm. He flinched when it was pulled back out roughly.

"Let's get you upstairs before it takes effect. Come on!" Jonathan grabbed John's wrist and pulled him from the chair and towards the stairs.

John couldn't understand Jonathan's sudden urgency for him to sleep. He'd said he was fine, why would he need to sleep? Was something wrong with him? He could feel the effects of the shot beginning to kick in at the top of the stairs. He swayed and Jonathan had to put his arm around John's waist to keep him on his feet. They made it to Jonathan's bedroom and he let John fall down onto the bed.

John moaned and rubbed his hand over his face. He felt so incredibly strange. Very sleepy, yet unable to yet completely succumb to sleep.

Jonathan watched him as the drug took effect. Yes, it was a tranquilizer, but it also acted as a truth serum. He needed to know if John had been having memories.

He could feel himself trembling with rage. Not only with the fact that his drugs used on John all these months had proven to be detrimental to his heart, but the fact that John had lied about having memories. He _shouldn't _be able to remember!

"John? Can you hear me?"

"Hmmm?" John moaned.

Jonathan sat on the edge of the bed and slapped John's face. "Can you understand me?"

"Y-yes," John answered slowly. "What's happening?"

"Just answer my questions. What memories have you had?"

"S-shouldn't tell," John whispered, but the drug was working against him and he sighed loudly. "Slapping someone's head. He called me 'Boss'. And a shower room, talking about powders and honey dust."

"What else?" Jonathan's voice was harsh.

"Umm, couldn't see their faces, just heard the voices. That's it." John scrunched his features, looking pained. "Made my head hurt to think about it."

Jonathan got up and started pacing back and forth. He ran his hands through his blond hair and let them rest on the top of his head. His breathing was loud and deep as he tried to figure out where he'd gone wrong in his drug formulations. He was so certain they'd been perfect. Looking down at John as if his troubles were all his patient's fault he had to decide whether to let things go on as they were or cut his losses now and go back to the drawing board.

While the irregular heart sounds were not as serious as his previous subjects and could be treated, treating it wasn't his concern. It should never have happened in the first place. Jonathan dropped his hands down and crossed them across his chest. And the memories… John shouldn't be having memories, at least not this soon.

In his sick mind, he decided he needed to give himself _some_ credit. After all, it's been five months and John was still alive at least and he _had_ been able to change the agent's personality. He doubted anyone else in his field would have been able to accomplish that.

John moaned again, his head moving back and forth on the pillow. He was so tired.

"What am I going to do with you, John?" Jonathan asked himself, leaning over the side of the bed and placing his hand over John's heart. "How could you let this happen?"

Jonathan shook his head, confusing himself with the words.

"Go to sleep, John."

It was only several seconds before John's breathing evened out and he was sound asleep.

_What am I going to do with you? _Jonathan had a decision to make. With these new problems he didn't think going on to prove John's psychopathic tendencies further would be of any use. And more memories would certainly resurface. He couldn't let that happen if John were free. Especially not since the man was an investigator.

Jonathan knew that he himself had killed men. But through his work, not in cold blood. John had been a challenge that Jonathan had welcomed and he had grown kind of fond of having John around. He snorted at himself and how pathetic his lonely life had become if he considered a subject a friendly companion. No—John was a test subject and nothing more.

"I'll just put you back in the cage until I can figure out what to do with you." Jonathan told the sleeping man. Pulling John up by his arms, Jonathan hefted him over his shoulder and carried him down the stairs.

***************

A couple of hours later, John slowly awoke on the cold concrete floor. He knew that wasn't right since he'd fallen asleep on Jonathan's bed. When he felt awake enough to finally open his eyes and see his surroundings, he realized with a jolt he was back in the glass cell.

_God, no!_

Sitting up carefully, he blinked the sleepiness from his eyes and rubbed his hands over his face. Fear made his heart beat faster and too shallow of breaths made him cough. As he got his breathing under control, the first thing he noticed that he was not wearing the handcuffs that kept him chained to the ceiling, to which they were hanging from at the moment, and the lights were at a comfortable level. That was enough to somewhat calm his overactive heartbeat. He also noticed that the towel he had been wearing was gone, but his now clean clothes lay in a pile next to him.

"Go ahead and get dressed."

John's head jerked around until he saw Jonathan approaching into the light. "Why am I in here? You promised you wouldn't put me back in here!"

"Get dressed, John."

Fear was becoming paranoia at the tone of voice Jonathan used and John wasted no time in getting the clothes on, except the jacket.

When Jonathan didn't say anything, but had an almost sad look in his blue eyes, John took the initiative. "You promised I wouldn't be put in here."

Jonathan sighed. "As long as you were honest with me. You lied about having memories."

_Shit! How did he know? _It didn't take long for the light bulb to flash. _The tranquilizer_.

"You disappoint me, John. I thought we had an understanding. I thought I could trust you to be honest with me." It made him feel somewhat better to lay the blame on John.

"I-I didn't know they were memories. I couldn't see anything clearly."

"Doesn't matter." Jonathan opened the door to the cell and stepped in. From behind his back he pulled the taser out into the open for John to see. "You see, I've decided it's time to end this experiment. I'm done with you."

John couldn't believe what he was seeing or hearing. He did _not _want to feel the muscle jamming shock of the taser again. But mostly, he didn't want to die. He wouldn't be able to control what Jonathan would do to him if he was incapacitated. He'd trusted Jonathan, took his word as truth. Jonathan had told him he'd never lie to him. _Has everything he told me been a lie all this time? Had he planned on killing me all along?_

An anger began to build inside John. It grew into a white hot rage like he'd never known he could feel.

"Why? You told me I could trust you." John's hands clenched into fists to keep them from trembling.

Jonathan didn't seem to notice what was happening inside of John. Except for the clenched fists he showed no outward sign of the considerable distress he felt inside.

"I can't let you go back and take the chance of you remembering your past life and my part in taking that away from you." He sighed deeply again. "I will regret this, of course."

Incensed, John looked into Jonathan's eye and saw the madness gleaming in them. _What a stupid fool I've been!_ He shook his head at his own idiocy.

"I really am sorry this didn't work out." Jonathan told him, then lifted the taser and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Jonathan's eyes widened and he tried again. Still nothing. Then he noticed the charge indicator showed it to be dead. He'd neglected to charge it.

Dropping the taser, Jonathan went for the switchblade knife in his pocket, but John was quicker.

When the taser didn't shoot the second time, John knew this would be his chance. His fury at the man in front of him and his deceptions overcame any thought of both of them surviving.

The last thing Jonathan saw was the look of a psychopathic killer in the eyes of his subject. The look he'd been trying to achieve for the past five months. Only the look was aimed at him.

Before the knife could be lifted from his pocket, John struck his arm away from it. Before Jonathan could utter a sound, John had his left arm wrapped around his throat and was squeezing with every bit of his strength. Before Jonathan could breathe his last breath, John wrapped his right arm around Jonathan's head and with a strong jerk, snapped his neck.

John slowly released his hold and Jonathan's body slid to the floor.

TBC

**So whatcha think? Did Jonathan get his just rewards? I don't think so, so I'll add a bit of extra something to the beginning of the next chapter. Bwahahaha! Hope you enjoyed this.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Fading Away**

**By SherryGabs**

**Rated: T**

**Sorry to say that John/Gibbs will not be reunited with his team in this chapter. But we are very, very close. So close you can headslap Tony if you want! Next chapter definitely.**

**Chapter 13**

John stared down at the body for a moment breathing heavily. He almost felt a pang of guilt at taking the life of the man who had been his only… What?… Companion, friend?

"No, you were no friend. You were planning on killing me all along, weren't you, you bastard." John couldn't know for sure. But he was sure that at the last moment, it was either himself or Jonathan.

He wanted to get out of there. He searched Jonathan's pockets, taking the knife out of the back pocket and putting it in his own. From the sports coat pocket he found a money clip and a syringe. He dropped the syringe wondering what the small amount of liquid was that could have killed him. Shaking off the thought he pocketed the sixty-five dollars from the money clip. In the other pocket he felt that god awful remote control he despised and pulled it out. Studying it, he noticed the buttons had identifying abbreviations. A twisted smile formed as he thought of a suitable retribution for what he himself had been put through.

Pushing what he thought was the correct button, his eyes gleamed as the handcuffs and chain lowered from the ceiling. Tightly fastening the cuffs around Jonathan's wrists, he pushed another button and watched in fascination as Jonathan's body was jerked upright and pulled up to the ceiling by his arms. His head flopped back as he swayed above the floor.

John grabbed his denim jacket from the floor. Before leaving the glass room he turned and pushed one more button on the remote. He turned the lights on as high as they would go.

"I'm sure you're burning in your hell." He let the remote fall from his fingers. "You can bake in mine."

****************

Upstairs in the kitchen, John found the keys to the Cherokee where Jonathan had left them on a hook by the back door. His shoes were there also and he sat at the table to put them on. While putting his jacket on, he looked around to see if there was anything else he'd need. The only thing he grabbed was the flask of bourbon he'd laid on the table earlier.

Getting behind the wheel of the SUV, John reversed the direction in which they'd arrived at the house. It was only a couple of miles to the interstate and he decided to go back to Washington DC, to a place he was familiar with.

Along the way thoughts raced through his head. He had killed Jonathan. He knew it wasn't murder, but self defense. He might have went a little overboard afterward, but it still felt justified. He was completely on his own now, no one to answer to and no one to help him out but himself. Within his anger at Jonathan, he also felt abandonment. He'd done everything Jonathan had told him and what had been expected of him. Except maybe taking care of himself better. If he'd been stronger, he wouldn't have had to sleep in the streets and be hungry. But despite his loyalty, Jonathan had betrayed him; wanted to kill him.

Dwelling on these thoughts and others, John didn't notice how fast he was driving—until the siren behind him pulled him back to the here and now.

"Fuck!" he hissed. This was the last thing he needed. He had no license, was in a stolen vehicle, and had just killed someone.

Brief thoughts of trying to outrun the police car flashed through his mind, but he didn't want the entire Virginia State Highway Patrol on his tail. So, braking and signaling, John pulled over to the side of the freeway.

The highway patrolman got out of his car and slowly walked to the driver's side of the SUV, writing down the license number on his way. This gave John a quick few seconds to think of a plan while he rolled his window down.

"Sir," the officer had a slight southern drawl, "I clocked you going 87 miles per hour in a 65 mile per hour zone. You in a hurry for any specific reason?"

"No." John looked out at the slim, medium height man and figured he could probably take him.

"May I see your driver's license, registration and proof of insurance, please?"

"Don't have any."

The patrolman's stance instantly became more alert. "Then step out of the vehicle."

John held up his hands to show they were empty before slowly opening the door and getting out of the SUV. But instead of closing the door, noticing how close the officer was, he rammed the door into the man.

The cop didn't fall, but was struggling to keep his footing and dropped his ticket pad. John struck quickly, knocking the man to the ground. He punched his face and rolled him over, taking the handcuffs from their holder on his belt. While the officer was still dazed, John pulled his arms behind him and put the cuffs on him. He drug the cop to his own patrol car, opened the back door and hefted him up into the back seat. Closing the door, John glanced around, breathing heavily. There were few cars going in either direction on the interstate, but no one seemed to have paid any attention. He picked up the ticket pad from the ground and pulled off the top sheet that had the Cherokee's license number written on it. Ignoring the screaming and kicking coming from the patrol car, he tossed the pad back to the ground and got back in behind the wheel of the SUV.

From a sign a few miles back, John knew he was only about nine miles from Washington. He would have time to drive there and abandon the SUV before anyone would be looking out for it. It was registered in Jonathan's name anyway, not his.

It never occurred to him that the patrol car had a dash camera mounted and it had recorded the whole incident. By the time he reached downtown Washington, with increased traffic, forty minutes had passed. When he dropped off the Cherokee in a parking lot and wiped his prints with his shirt sleeve pulled down over his hand, another fifteen minutes had gone by. By then a BOLO with his description, and the vehicle's, had just been issued to all local precincts.

**************

John, now having some cash and clean clothes, treated himself to a steak dinner and beer at a casual bar & grille. It had been so long since he'd had something this tasteful and filling, he considered it the best meal he'd ever had. His lungs felt much less congested and he only coughed sporadically. But he must have still looked a bit peaked, because the fortyish-something waitress asked if he was okay as she laid the check on the table.

Seeing her instantly as the mothering type and slightly annoyed with himself that he felt gratitude, John assured her he was fine and handed her cash for the bill and her tip.

John walked along the busier streets of downtown DC as the hour drew later into the evening. The cash he had left would get him a cheap room for the night… very cheap, but it would be a hell of a lot better than sleeping in an alley again. Keeping an eye out for an inexpensive motel, he was brought up short in his musings by a woman stepping into his path.

"Hey, honey, you want some company?"

John had seen many hookers in the past few days… of every shape, look, age and color. This one momentarily took his breath away. Tall, leggy, very pretty face without too much makeup like most hookers used. Her ginger-red hair lay in natural waves around her shoulders and her body showed just the right amount of curves in her clingy green dress that was covered by a faux fur short jacket, left open to reveal her very attractive cleavage.

She smiled knowingly at the look in his eyes. "You are the handsomest man I've seen all evening." She lightly ran a scarlet-colored fingernail down his cheek and off his chin. "I can put some color in those cheeks."

Taking the words for what he knew they were—a sales pitch—he couldn't help the color that came to his cheeks as he swallowed down his embarrassment. Feelings that had laid dormant for so long were rising to the surface. He wanted her, but was sure her price was too high.

"Maybe some other time," John hated the choked sound of his voice.

Her face showed her disappointment and her mouth pouted. "Well, that _is_ a shame, honey. If you change your mind, I'm usually along this block somewhere. My name's Heavenly."

John nodded as she walked past him and muttered "You certainly are" under his breath. He turned and kept his eyes on her slinky form until she became lost among others on the sidewalk.

He had a hard time getting Heavenly out of his mind. Her red hair and green eyes had awoke something in him that he didn't want to resist. But money was a problem. She'd want it up front, he was sure, so he'd need to get some cash quick.

Luckily for him, an opportunity presented itself just a few blocks later.

Passing an alley, John looked down it in time to see two men standing a little ways in. He saw a flash of money and stopped. Keeping his body hidden behind the corner of a building and peering around it, John saw the wad of money the dope dealer was adding to. The young man buying rocks took his prize and set off in the other direction. John saw his golden opportunity.

The dealer started walking slowly further into the alley, whistling and counting his cash. John silently followed him, withdrawing the switchblade from his back pocket and opening it. Grabbing the man's hair with his left hand, he pulled back, bringing the knife to the man's throat in one swift movement.

"Give me the cash and you walk away alive," he said in a cold, menacing voice.

"What the fuck?" the man snarled, startled at being snuck up on. "I ain't handing you shit!"

Before the man could gain courage enough to try and fight him, John pressed the knife into the dealer's skin with just enough force to draw a small amount of blood.

"I can easily slice you if you so much as twitch a muscle! Now slowly raise the hand with the money up." When the man showed no sign of doing this, John used his body to shove the dealer into the brick wall. "Now, asshole!"

"All right!" the man grumbled angrily. He did as instructed and carefully raised his hand with the wad of cash. "There's about two thousand there. Take it!"

John released the man's head and grabbed the money from his hand, quickly stuffing it into his jacket pocket. Not being ignorant of drug dealers, John knew the man probably had a gun hidden. Before the man could get any ideas of reaching for it, John once again grabbed his hair, pulled back and smashed his face into the brick wall. He released the dealer and let him fall to the ground unconscious.

John found the Glock in the man's waistband. Putting the knife in his back pocket, he kept the gun in his hand and backed away until he was sure the dealer wasn't going to wake yet. Before stepping back out onto the sidewalk, John put the gun in the back of his waistband and covered it with his jacket. Shaking off the wave of angry aggression that had taken hold, John retraced his steps in search of his angel named Heavenly.

He found her moments later, leaning over, talking to a man through his car window. He stood behind her and cleared his throat to get her attention. She stood up and smiled when she saw who it was.

"Change your mind, handsome?" she asked, posing provocatively.

He nodded and pulled just the corner of the cash in his pocket out so she could see he was prepared to pay.

Heavenly wiggled her fingers good-bye to the man in the car and gave John her full attention. The bald, fat guy in the car gave John a scathing look before driving off.

"How much?" John asked.

"Fifty for a blow job." She moved closer to him. "One hundred and fifty for straight sex." She reached and rubbed her finger down the buttons of his shirt, her tongue wetting her lips. "What'll it be?"

John could feel himself heating up and he swallowed the impulse to shove her up against the building behind them and seeing just how good those glossed lips tasted.

"Straight sex. You gotta room?"

She pointed to a building two doors down. "Right there." She hooked her arm through his and winked at him. "You're gonna love it."

They climbed up two sets of dimly lit steps and down a dismally dreary hallway to a room. Heavenly unlocked the door and preceded John inside, closing it behind him. The room was just as dreary as the stairs and hallway. A sagging full-size bed took up most of the room. A dresser, nightstand, small table and chair filled the rest. All of which had seen better days. An open door led to what was obviously a bathroom and a second closed door he assumed to be a closet. She laid her small purse on the dresser and removed her jacket, hanging it over the chair.

John closed the distance between them and attempted to put his hands on her waist to pull her against him, but she held him back by pushing on his chest. "Money up front, sugar."

He sighed his displeasure, "Name's John."

She giggled. "That's original."

His jaw tensed slightly, but he realized she probably _did _hear that name a lot, real or not. He turned away so she couldn't see just how big the wad of cash was and peeled off a fifty and a hundred. Replacing it back in his pocket, he turned back around and handed her the hundred and fifty.

She took it from his fingers, folded it and placed it in the low-cut neckline of her dress. "Why don't you get comfortable while I go hang this dress up."

His eyes followed her into the bathroom. She didn't close the door, but stayed out of sight behind it. He released a heavy breath of anticipation and sat down on the bed.

John started to remove his jacket when the door to the room suddenly burst open. Four men came through, badges hanging from around their necks. The first two coming through had guns raised and aimed at him.

"Metro Vice! Hands up!" the two loudly shouted at once, rushing towards him.

Eyes wide in shock and survival mode kicking in, John's first instinct was to go for the gun behind his back. But before he could even reach back, his common sense told him he didn't have a chance.

"I said hands up!" one of the cops with a gun shouted again.

John closed his eyes briefly, realizing he'd been caught in a sting operation. _Walked right into it._ He cursed himself and his stupidity while he slowly raised his hands into the air.

"Put them behind your head and stand up."

John interlocked his fingers behind his head and stood up. Immediately, the two officers who weren't holding guns came up and each grabbed a wrist, forcing them behind his back. A plastic cable tie was placed around them and locked into place. While the first two officers continued to cover him, the other two searched his pockets.

'Heavenly' came out of the bathroom at this time, still in her green dress. John's glare should have smote her right then and there.

"Gun!" one of them said sharply holding up the Glock 9mm. He removed the clip and set both on the table. "Got a license for this?"

John's negative shake of his head confirmed the cop's suspicion.

The other found the knife in his back pocket. He opened it and studied the blade. "There's a little blood on this and it looks fresh."

The last to be removed from his pockets was the cash and flask. The officer counted the cash, including the hundred and fifty that the female vice officer handed over.

"Two thousand, thirty-five. That's a hefty amount to be carrying around. Where did it come from?"

John just shrugged and said, "Payday."

"You don't have a wallet or ID?"

John shook his head no.

'Heavenly' held up her badge and announced in a voice that no longer had a sultry overtone, but completely businesslike.

"You are being charged with attempted solicitation of a prostitute, possession of an unlicensed firearm and…"

As she went through the charges and then told him his Miranda rights, John's mind tried to fathom the amount of trouble he was in. And they didn't even know about everything else he'd done in the past few days. Assault on police officers would not go over lightly.

"Do you understand these rights as I have read them?" she asked, looking at the man who looked a little lost.

"Yeah," John muttered.

"Take him out to the truck with the others," she instructed with a heavy sigh, thanking God she didn't have to go back out on the streets in those heels.

"Nice job tonight, Kiley," one of the officers complimented her as the others took John out the door. "This guy looks like a real bad boy."

"Thanks, Glenn. It's a shame though," Detective Kasey Kiley frowned in retrospect. "He has the prettiest blue eyes."

**************

Besides John, there were five other men being led out of the truck and into the police station booking area. They were all put into a holding cell together, having their hands released from the ties as they entered it. The other cells were also crowded; must have been a busy night for crime in DC. John took up one corner of the room and stood there, waiting his turn. The cell felt confining, reminding him too much of the one he'd spent all those months in. He wanted to pace, but there was no room.

One of the vice officers had asked for his name before being put into the truck, needing it for the charge sheet he was filling out. When all he got was 'John' for a name and nothing else, he became a bit pissed and just wrote 'Doe' for the last name.

So when John heard the name John Doe finally being called, he knew it was him they wanted. Having paid attention as the others had been led out, he knew to put his hands through the slot in the door to await handcuffs being put in place before they would open the door.

As he was being booked, with what very little information he gave them, and then fingerprinted John caught the attention of the supervisor. The man searched his desktop for the papers he wanted. One was the BOLO placed earlier that day and the second was a printout of the face of the man who'd assaulted a state highway patrol officer. The dash cam video had been reviewed and photos of the assailant had been sent to all police stations in a fifty mile radius just two hours before.

He compared the photo to the man standing at the counter. It was him. _What were the chances of that?_

John stood at the counter, his hands involuntarily pulling at the handcuffs, wanting them off badly. Finally finished, he was led to a doorway where the officer there estimated his size and handed him a jailhouse orange outfit and paper slippers.

As John was being led back to his holding cell to change, the supervisor came to the officer who had booked John and showed her the photo and BOLO. "I want his arraignment held off as long as possible. The boys upstairs are gonna want to see him."

It would be the next afternoon before John was taken to an interrogation room and interviewed for the first time. Once again in handcuffs, attached to a wide leather belt around his waist so he couldn't raise his hands very far. He thought he would go nuts if he had to stay in that cell any longer. The cell, the cuffs, it was all too much too soon since he'd gained his freedom. He'd gone from one prison to another and it wasn't sitting well with his psyche.

The interview didn't go well. The only information John would give was his name and when asked about the gun, bloody knife, and money he only said he found them.

In the less than twenty-four hours since the photo of him had been released, the detective interviewing John had received notice that the same man had assaulted two police officers in Arlington and a park maintenance worker here in the city. When asked about these occurrences, John just shrugged and didn't say a word.

Detective Terry Rhinehold had been pretty perturbed by the end of the interview, wanting to pull some words from the prisoner's throat by hand if he had to. An hour after the interview, sipping coffee and going over notes from another case, Det. Rhinehold was interrupted by a lab tech.

"Finally got a fingerprint match on the John Doe down in holding. I think you might be interested."

Terry yanked the paper from the tech and studied the picture of the same man as John Doe, but with shorter hair and a bit healthier looking. The name Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, N.C.I.S. was below the picture. He read on and stood up when he saw that his prisoner been reported missing last November.

"The guy's a fed?" He read the paper again, noting the contact information. "You start processing the evidence we found on him yet?"

"Not yet, we're pretty backed up."

"Don't bother. Keep it in storage for now." Terry dropped the paper and picked up his phone. "I think I better make a phone call."

TBC

**1. I really have no idea how much a hooker charges, so those amounts are just made up.**

**2. The name 'Heavenly' came from a movie Mark H. did with Elizabeth Taylor, "Sweet Bird of Youth". Heavenly was his young love from his hometown. I thought the name would work well here. **

**And if you're interested... the movie has a very naked Mark H. near the beginning. OMG! What a body! (swooning) LOL.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Fading Away**

**By SherryGabs**

**Rated: T**

**Huge apologies for how long it's taken to get this to you. We had a very frightening family emergency a week ago. Everything is fine now. (Thank you Lord!) Plus the kids had all this week off from school for spring break. So I've either not had the ambition to write or not had the time to sit down at the computer for very long. Hope this chapter makes up for it. Gibbs and team are reunited at last! Too bad it's not under better circumstances. Hope you like it.**

**Chapter 14**

In the bullpen at NCIS headquarters, things were about as normal as normal could be at the time. Having just wrapped up a fairly mundane case and finishing up the paperwork, each agent was looking forward to being able to go home on time.

"What are your plans for tonight, Tony?" Kate asked, adding pages of background information to a case folder.

Tony stood and walked around his desk, leaning on the front edge. He crossed his arms and leered at Kate with a sickening smile. "Nothing special. Why? You wanna come over and make my dinner, clean up afterward, and turn my bed down for me?"

Kate looked up at Tony from under her bangs with doubtful eyes. "Yeah, like that's going to happen." Then she lifted her head and smiled widely. "But I will do it for Steven. That's where I'm going tonight."

Tony frowned and grunted. He then turned towards Tim. "What about you, Probie? Is Elflord going to take on the evil Ice Princess? Or do you have some computer journal to exercise your right hand with?"

McGee gave Tony his best indulge-the-child look. "Ha! Ha! For your information I have a date with Wendy, from Legal."

DiNozzo's eyes went wide and he stalked to Tim's desk, leaning over it. "Not Wendy Wonderbra?"

Tim smiled with great gratification. "The one and only. And her name's Wendy Wonderly."

"I like Wonderbra. It looks good on her." Tony stood back up and kicked his desk in frustration. "I've asked her out at least a dozen times; she keeps turning me down."

"Gee, I wonder why?" Tim looked shocked.

Kate's laughter was drowned out when Tony's phone rang. Giving them both death glares, he picked his phone up.

"Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. How may I help you this fine spring day?"

"Yes, Agent DiNozzo, this is Det. Terry Rhinehold, Metro PD, 1st Precinct. I have a prisoner here you're going to want to see."

"Sailor, Marine? What kind of trouble is he in?" Tony asked, thinking this was a typical agency handover.

"Well, ex-Marine, but that's not the point. Your agency reported him as missing back in November." Rhinehold paused for effect. "Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

It was all Tony could do to keep standing. He staggered to his chair and dropped down into it. "Did you say Gibbs?" He had to hear it again.

This caught Tim and Kate's attention. They both got up and stood at Tony's desk.

"Yes," the detective answered. "He was arrested and brought in last night as a John Doe and his fingerprints just came back identifying him as your missing agent."

"Is he okay?" Tony's heart was thumping hard in his chest.

"He's a bit worse for wear, but he seems all right."

Tony nodded to the two anxious agents. Kate brought her hands to her mouth, not only in relief but to keep from blurting out questions.

"You said he's been arrested. What charge?" Tony couldn't believe this could be possible. Tim and Kate's eyes both got large hearing this.

"You mean _charges_, Agent DiNozzo, plural. He was arrested last night by our Vice department during a prostitution solicitation sting. But there's several other charges and I'd really just prefer you come in and we can go over this in person."

"We're on our way, Det. Rhinehold. Thanks for the call. And I really mean that." Tony slowly hung up and slouched in his seat as if waking up from a bad dream. _He's alive._

"Tony?" Kate wanted to grab and shake him.

"Gibbs is okay?" Tim seemed to need to be reassured.

Tony shook himself and stood up. "The detective said he seems fine, but worse for wear." He crooked his head in wonder. "Worse for wear… what kind of a phrase _is _that anyway?"

"Tony!" Tim and Kate shouted together.

"We need to get over to the 1st Precinct. Apparently Gibbs was arrested last night in a prostitution sting."

"What?!" Kate's mouth hung open in shock.

"Yeah, I'm kinda freakin' about that myself," Tony admitted with a grimace. "There's other charges pending also. We need to get over there."

He grabbed his jacket and started issuing commands. "I'm going to tell Director Morrow. Kate you go get Ducky, I want him there just in case. McWonderbra, you go tell Abby. But tell her she can't come; she'd never be able to control herself." He took Tim's elbow and looked at him pointedly. "But say it nicely!" He pulled his jacket on. "We'll meet at the car in 10 minutes." With that he rounded towards the stairs and took them two at a time.

Kate and Tim met each other's eyes and stared a moment.

"He's alive." Kate said quietly.

"He's alive." Tim breathed out.

"_He's alive_!" They both squealed in delight and hugged tightly. Whatever plans they had for the night were already forgotten.

Ten minutes later they were on their way. McGee had literally had to pull Abby from around him, she clung so tightly. Crying, she made him promise to call and keep her updated.

Ducky had sagged with relief and had to wipe his eyes more than once while he struggled to get his trench coat on. Tony filled the doctor in on what he knew during the drive. While each was jubilant that their bossman was alive and well, they still had to wonder about him being considered a John Doe and what other charges were facing him. What had he gone through in the last five months, and how had it affected him?

When Det. Rhinehold greeted the four guests, he took them to a conference room so they'd have enough chairs. The file in his hands was everything he had on John Doe. As he sat down at the head of the table, he was immediately inundated by questions from the NCIS group. He held up a hand to stop all the voices speaking at once.

"Why don't I just start with what he's being charged with and what little he's doing to help himself."

"What exactly do you mean by that Det. Rhinehold?" Ducky wanted to know.

"Please, call me Terry. And what I mean is, he's refusing to give us his real name. He insists his name is John. Just John, no last name. He says he has no place of residence, no driver's license, no ID. Now I've interrogated a lot of people in my time, and my instinct is saying he's telling the truth about that. However, what little else he has given us are blatant lies."

The four shared confused looks. _Why would Gibbs think his name is John? Why would he refuse knowledge about his own home?_

"What about the charges against him?" Tony asked solemnly.

Terry shook his head. "He's in quite a bit of trouble. Last night he was caught in a prostitution sting. When he was searched they found an unregistered 9mm Glock, a switch blade with small traces of fresh blood and over two thousand dollars in cash."

"Anything else?" Kate asked, her eyes betraying her worry.

"Oh yeah," Terry leaned back in his seat with a sigh. "Three days ago, he assaulted two Arlington police officers who were trying to get him to give his real name. Day after that he destroyed a city park trash can and punched a park maintenance worker for no obvious reason, in front of witnesses. All three have seen his photo and positively identified him. Then yesterday, he was pulled over for speeding. The Jeep Cherokee he was driving didn't belong to him and it was found abandoned early this morning. He assaulted the highway patrolman who'd pulled him over, handcuffed and locked him in his back seat of his patrol car. His dash cam recorded the whole thing."

Terry took a long breath. "When asked about the gun, knife and money, he just said he found them. It was obvious he was lying about that. He really hasn't said much of anything else. He refused a lawyer during questioning, not that he said anything incriminating anyway."

"Never was much of a talker," Tony added, not trying to sound amusing.

Ducky shook his head. "These things don't sound like our Jethro. He's a criminal investigator for heaven's sake, not a petty criminal. Something is definitely wrong."

"Why don't you tell me about his disappearance in November." Terry was curious about the story, wondering how it could possibly tie in with what they knew now.

"Well, he'd been acting strange," Kate started. "More grumpy than usual, jittery, forgetful."

"It had gotten to the point where it required intervention from our director and Dr. Mallard here." Tim nodded to the medical examiner who took over.

"Yes, by order of the director, I examined Jethro and took a blood sample." Ducky began nervously squeezing the brim of his hat that was in his lap. "Besides not eating well or getting sufficient sleep, there was nothing obvious explaining his behavior. The blood test came back indicating he'd been exposed to a type of drug that we could not identify; we'd never seen anything like it before. It acted much like an amphetamine and--"

"We found the same substance in his home's water supply," Tony interrupted. "He'd been ingesting it for over a week before he disappeared."

"How would it get into his water?" Terry's brow was creased in confusion.

"Someone--obviously the same man who kidnapped him--had tapped into his main water line, contaminating the water with the drug," Tony continued.

"Jethro became addicted to it," Ducky's eyes were hard with anger. "At home, where he was continuously exposed, he felt good. Whereas, at work where he didn't have access to the drug, he showed signs of withdrawal."

Terry shook his head in wonder. "You're sure he was kidnapped? He might not have just left… maybe in a bad state of mind?"

Tony shook his head adamently. "No! There were unidentifiable shoe prints left that didn't belong to Gibbs, and tracks that proved he was _carried_ out of his house."

"But why go to all that trouble to kidnap someone in such a way?" Terry shifted in his chair. "Why not just grab him?"

"Well, that's the question we were never able to figure out," Kate said softly, then made her voice stronger. "The kidnapper left no evidence of himself whatsoever. From the unique design of the drug, we figure he's a doctor, pharmacist, or drug dealer who mixes his own stuff."

"Doctor?" Terry's eyes lit up and he opened the folder, flipping pages till he found the right one. "The Jeep Cherokee that Agent Gibbs was driving and dumped downtown is registered to a Dr. Jonathan Nesmith. License plate is out of North Carolina and he has a home address there. Nobody's contacted him about the Cherokee yet and it hasn't been reported stolen."

"Anything else on him?" Tim asked, wishing he had his laptop with him to look up the doctor up himself.

"Not yet. I haven't had time to dig too deep. Thought you'd want to see your agent first."

"Yeah, when can we see him?" Tony asked. "And how soon can he be released to us?"

"Whoa there!" Terry chuckled patiently. "You can see him as soon as we can get him into an interrogation room. As for being released," Terry shook his head, "I need to speak to my captain and the DA. Technically, Gibbs isn't in the military and should be arraigned in criminal court. These charges aren't going to go away. But I _do _understand you need to conduct your own investigation into his kidnapping and will need access to him."

As much as Tony hated to say this, he felt it may help if it could get their boss released to their custody. "We have holding cells at NCIS. He will be kept in a cell at all times, unless being questioned."

The other three didn't like to hear that, but understood what Tony was doing.

"I'll pass that along." Terry closed his folder and stood up. "I'll show you to the interrogation room and have him brought up. While you're speaking with him, I'll have a talk with my captain." He paused and held up a finger. "One more thing… he was put in solitary last night after beating up two other prisoners. They started it, but he definitely finished it. It was decided to keep him there for the safety of all involved, including himself."

"Understood." Tony sighed, wondering if he should feel more sorry for Gibbs or the other two prisoners.

A few moments later Tony and Ducky waited in the interrogation room for Gibbs to be brought in. Kate and Tim stood on the other side of the mirror in an observation room. On the way they had talked of the possibility that maybe Gibbs was suffering from amnesia. It was the only possibility they could think of as to why Gibbs didn't know his name or address.

When the interrogation room door opened and Gibbs was brought in, Kate wanted to cry. _He looks so pathetic!_ She noted his weight loss, longer unkempt hair, and paleness. He had a blackeye from the fight and walked stiffly. His wrists were once again cuffed and attached to a belt around his waist. She heard Tim release a deep breath beside her.

"Geez, Kate, would you look at him? He looks so different."

Kate sniffled. "I know."

In the other room, Ducky and Tony stared at their boss noting the same things as Kate. John had a wary look in his eyes, wondering who these people were as he took a seat at the side of the table facing the mirror.

"Jethro, it's good to see you again finally!" Ducky went to take John's hand to shake, but John yanked his hands away, giving the older man a glare. Ducky's eyes showed his disappointment and confusion.

"Gibbs," Tony sighed, his relief at seeing his boss in person very evident. But seeing how he reacted to Ducky made him cautious. "It's been a while. Where have you been the past five months?"

John's eyes stared down at the table. _That voice! It's the voice I heard in the shower. Who is he? Why are they calling me Jethro and Gibbs?_ He shot a quick glance at the older of the two and suddenly saw an image of him bending over a body. A nagging ache started in his head. Starting like an itch in his brain and becoming slightly painful.

"Boss?" Tony tried getting his attention. It was obvious the man didn't seem to know them.

_Boss? How many names is this guy gonna call me?_ The ache in his head was becoming bothersome. John was confused and just wanted to go back to his cell where he could be all alone. It was better there. He didn't have to wear handcuffs in there and he didn't have to talk to anybody. He began pulling at his cuffs, his hands down in his lap under the table, trying not to be too obvious..

"My name is John," he said, barely audible to Ducky and Tony.

Ducky and Tony shared a look. "No, your name is Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Ducky stated gently. "You like to go by Jethro or just Gibbs. Don't you remember?"

John shook his head, his breathing quickened. "It's John."

"Okay then, John," Tony played along. "What's your last name? I know it's not Doe."

"Don't have one."

"Everybody's got a last name," Tony pointed out.

John didn't have an answer for that. He was becoming a bit more agitated and tugged harder against the handcuffs under the table.

Ducky noticed the movement and heard the metal clanging. From his angle he was able to look down and glanced a look at John's wrists.

"Good God! Let me see your wrists!" Ducky exclaimed, grabbing hold of John's left arm. John struggled, but the Ducky held strong. Tony stood and took hold of John's other arm.

"Take it easy!" Tony said soothingly. "Ducky here is a doctor. He just wants to look at them."

While John rationally knew that _this _doctor wasn't the same kind of doctor or man that Jonathan was, he still mistrust him. Hadn't Jonathan told him not to trust anyone but him? But Jonathan had ended up lying to him and betraying him. John didn't know who he could trust. But the visions and voices he'd seen and heard made him feel as if he should know these men, but he didn't. Were they really memories? Were these men people he knew from before Jonathan?

He suddenly stopped struggling when he shouted out, "Who the hell are you?!"

Tony and Ducky still held on firmly as Tony started to explain. "I'm Tony DiNozzo, Special Agent with NCIS." At John's confused look at said, "Naval Criminal Investigative Service. This is Dr. Mallard, but everyone calls him Ducky. He's the medical examiner at NCIS."

John tried to put names to faces in his mind, but all he could get was a mess of jumbled images that made no sense. Even the name they said was his sounded totally foreign. It just made his head hurt worse. He wanted so badly to rub his temples, but knew his cuffed hands wouldn't reach.

"_Should_ I know you?" He meant for it to sound gruff and he eyed them both with mistrust.

Ducky explained this time. "Yes. We all work together at NCIS. You are a Special Agent also. Team leader to Anthony here, Kate Todd, and Timothy McGee." Ducky relaxed his hold on John's arm slightly in hopes it would help relax the agitated man. "You and I have known each other about ten years now. You investigate and solve crimes involving Naval and Marine personnel and fight terrorism. And are quite good at it, I might say," he added with a smile and nod.

"Five months ago, you disappeared," Tony went on. "You'd been drugged and kidnapped from your home. We spent weeks, working almost nonstop, trying to find you. But the guy was good and left no evidence whatsoever." Tony swallowed the lump now in his throat. "We've been worried sick about you. I'm sorry we never got to you."

John closed his eyes. He knew he'd spent all that time with Jonathan and vaguely remembered feeling anger and resentment that nobody had come to rescue him, but that somebody should have.

"I still don't know you," John stated, opening his eyes, but keeping them downcast.

"That's okay," Ducky patted his arm. "It'll come back to you. Now please let me see your wrists."

John sighed, really seeing no need to hide them. After all, the guards had seen them while handcuffing him, keeping whatever comments they wanted to make to themselves. He couldn't lift them to the tabletop, so scooted his chair back to give them a better view.

His wrists were red and chafed from pulling against the shackles. Ducky tsked and Tony felt his eyes sting when they saw the scars around both wrists. They'd both seen scars such as this on victims and knew how they were caused--usually by hanging by one's weight for long stretches of time.

Ducky rubbed his thumb over the straight scar on the left wrist below the other one. He could see it was a slit from a knife or razor blade and that it had been repaired. He became even more deeply concerned and it showed on his face.

"Did you do this?" he asked, without any hint of condemnation in his voice.

John turned his wrist over to hide it. After a few seconds he said in a voice that held little emotion, "It was a test. I passed."

Ducky and Tony gave each other a long stare, wondering just what that meant. On the other side of the mirror, the two observing agents didn't need to use much imagination to visualize what they couldn't see from their positions. Tim's face was grim and his eyes shown brightly with unshed tears. Kate didn't bother to try and stop the tears that now flowed down her cheeks.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

**Fading Away**

**By SherryGabs**

**Rated: T**

**Sorry it's taken so long. No real excuse this time, except spending too much time reading other people's fine stories. :-p**

**Chapter 15**

Tony and Ducky both took their seats as their gazes turned back to John, studying him intently. They were afraid to find out if their boss and friend had actually slit his own wrist, but they had to find out.

"What kind of test?" Tony asked, swallowing nervously.

John debated with himself. He didn't know how much he should divulge about Jonathan, considering he'd left his lifeless body dangling grotesquely. But his pride at standing up to the bastard and not showing fear of death made him almost want to brag.

"To see if I'd actually do it. He didn't think I would, but I did." John was looking directly into Tony's eyes. "I wanted to do the other one, but he kicked the knife away. He said he wasn't finished with me, said I was weak." John's eyes blazed and the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smirk, thinking of who had been the weak one in the end. "It's the weak who are _afraid_ to die. I wasn't afraid."

Tony and Ducky could hardly fathom what John had gone through to make him want to kill himself and seemingly be proud of it.

Ducky had seen the repair work on the wrist. It had been done by a professional. Maybe not as neat as a surgeon, but still by a doctor.

"Who sewed it up?" he asked. "The 'he' you mentioned?"

John looked at Ducky and once again caught a glimpse in his mind of seeing those kind, gentle eyes somewhere else. He looked down again. "Yes."

"Is _he_ a doctor?" Tony asked, thinking of what Terry had told them. "The same doctor who owns the Jeep Cherokee you were driving yesterday? Dr. Jonathan Nesmith?"

Tony knew the question was answered when John's eyes shot up at him suddenly. "Is he the one who took you five months ago?"

John had known in the back of his mind the connection would be made eventually, but he didn't expect it to be this quick. He wasn't ready to confess to killing the doctor, even in self-defense. Nor was he willing to admit how he'd been taken in and used so easily by Jonathan. He just nodded his head affirmatively.

"Where is he now?" Tony's voice raised slightly. If they had a chance to get this son of a bitch, the sooner the better.

John pondered a few seconds, then shook his head. "Don't know."

"You were in his SUV!" Tony couldn't keep the aggravation out of his voice.

"Anthony…" Ducky cautioned him to relax.

John was saved from answering by the door opening. Det. Rhinehold stepped in and closed it behind him. "Any luck?" he asked, sensing some tension.

"Not much," Tony muttered, not willing to divulge too much. He wanted to get Gibbs home to familiar surroundings, and where he himself was more in his element.

"I know the feeling," Terry admitted with a grimace. "I spoke to my captain and Assistant District Attorney Richard Gray. Since Agent Gibbs doesn't have a criminal record, and due to the extenuating circumstances, Gray's willing to release him into your custody and all the evidence to aid in your investigation."

"That's wonderful!" Ducky gushed.

"There are stipulations, however," Terry added.

"Of course." Tony knew it wouldn't be made too easy; he tried to keep most of the sarcasm out of his voice.

"He must wear an ankle bracelet at all times to keep track of his location. If you're going to take him out of the Naval Yard, our department must be informed of where he's going and who's company he's in. When your investigation is complete, he must be brought back here for arraignment on the charges he's facing. Like I said earlier, the charges aren't going to go away. It's up to the judge as to what happens after that."

"Understood," Tony had no choice but to agree. "I'll keep you up to date on how the investigation's progressing."

John's face showed frustrated anger. He didn't like to be talked about as if he weren't there. Plus, it sounded like they were going to transfer him.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"You're being handed over to NCIS until they can conclude the investigation into your disappearance back in November," Terry informed him. "The more you cooperate, the better it will look for you when you return for arraignment." His voice grew stern. "You pull any stupid shit, the DA and judge are gonna be real pissed. You understand what I'm saying?"

"Perfectly," John's voice held a hint of contempt. _In other words… be a good boy, answer their questions, and try not to punch them out if they piss me off. Not making any promises._

Terry shook his head, but otherwise ignored the tone. He turned to Tony. "I'll have him taken back downstairs to change into his street clothes and get the ankle bracelet put on. Someone is on their way here now with the evidence we found on him last night, and I'll have the Cherokee towed over to your garage tonight. Any questions?"

"Not at the moment, but I'll call if something comes up." Tony held out his hand. "I'd like to thank you for contacting us so quick and cooperating with the transfer."

Terry shook the offered hand. "Happy to help. Good luck on your end."

The detective led John out by his arm to hand off to an officer to take him downstairs. Seconds later, Tim and Kate stepped into the room.

"He doesn't know any of us," Tim stated quietly.

"He doesn't know himself," Kate added. "Ducky? Is it amnesia?"

"I'm not going to hazard a guess at anything until we get him back to NCIS and I can examine him and run some tests." Ducky shook his head. "We know that the mysterious Dr. Nesmith had him all this time. If he used drugs to kidnap Gibbs, it makes sense that he continued to use drugs afterwards. Who knows what the intended affect was. I must rule out head trauma also."

"Can you take care of that this evening, Ducky?" Tony asked, readying himself for a long night.

"Of course."

"Great. The first thing I'm gonna do is convince him of who he is. This 'John' crap is going to stop now." He pulled out his phone. "I'm calling Director Morrow to fill him in." Dialing the number, Tony moved away from the others. He needed a few things handy once they returned to NCIS.

"I'll call Abby and update her before she pulls the stuffing out of poor Bert," Tim offered.

"Tim, you might want to warn her that Gibbs probably won't know her," Kate cautioned, knowing Abby would probably be heartbroken by that.

"Good idea," Tim said, even though he'd already thought of that and it made his own heart ache for her.

**************

Thirty minutes later Tony was at the wheel, Ducky beside him, and Kate and Tim were in the backseat with John squeezed between them. They'd tried introducing themselves, but their former leader had given them blank stares keeping his thoughts to himself. He knew their voices like he'd known Tony's. From the memories that Jonathan had not expected him to have.

Tim felt uncomfortable sitting so close. He was weirded out seeing Gibbs in handcuffs and knowing he now wore an ankle bracelet like a common criminal. He wanted to tell the man how much he'd missed him, but knew it was a wasted effort. He wanted so much for things to go back to the way they were before Gibbs had been taken from them.

Kate felt the same way. Her mothering instincts were working overtime wanting to get Gibbs back to the healthy man she had looked up to since he'd stepped foot on Air Force One and had turned her whole world upside down.

While Ducky was running types of blood and urine tests that would be necessary through his mind, Tony was steeling himself. He knew he couldn't treat Gibbs like the friend he used to be or with kid gloves. He'd have to be tough… tough like Gibbs. He needed to treat Gibbs like a suspect if that's what it was going to take to get information out of him. And he knew Gibbs could be stubborn like a mule.

Since coming out into the outside air, John had coughed a few times. Not harshly, but enough to get the doctor to look at him with some concern. His lungs did feel better since Jonathan had given him the antibiotic injection, so at least that's one thing he should be thankful for. He wasn't sure what he should feel about these people he was now in the custody of. His mind was warring with the few slight memories he'd experienced and all that Jonathan had drilled into him over the months. And he wished that when he did try to remember, it wouldn't give him a headache, like he was experiencing now trying to correctly place the two agents on either side of him. But that mental wall kept getting in the way.

A short time later they pulled into the Naval Yard and to the entrance where prisoners were brought in. John was flanked by Tim and Tony as they walked through the door. Next thing he knew he was being jumped on by a flash of white, red and black.

"Gibbs! Gibbs! Oh, how I've missed you. Where have you been? Are you okay?" Abby had her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. He would have fallen backwards if Tony and Tim hadn't held him up.

He fought to get her off him. "Get his crazy bitch off me!" he shouted angrily.

She immediately let go after the words sunk in. Kate pulled her back further.

"Abby, I told you not to come down here!" Tim told her, angry that she'd ignored him. "I told you he probably wouldn't remember you."

"Of course he would remember me! I'm his favorite!" Abby's voice grew soft with worry. "You remember me, don't you Gibbs? You used to bring me Caff-Pows every day. You'd come into my lab demanding results all the time." Her voice and face were desperate with the need for recognition.

All she got in return was a glare that would send Bigfoot running away. She hung her head and turned into Kate for a hug. Kate wrapped her arms around Abby and rubbed her back. "Shhh. He'll remember you before too long, I'm sure."

"What if he doesn't?" Abby asked, turning her head to watch Tim and Tony take her Gibbs away. "What's happened to him?" She'd been shocked at his reaction to her and was very scared she may have lost his affection forever.

Kate had nothing to say, but held Abby while she cried.

Before they got to a turn in the corridor, John turned his head and looked back at the Goth woman. He could see her in his mind... him handing her a very large cup and her giving him a hug in return. John turned back around and, for the first time in a very long time, he felt remorse.

*************

The first stop was autopsy. While Ducky prepared what he'd need, Tony had Tim go up to his computer and find out anything he could on Dr. Jonathan Nesmith. He then guided John over to one of the tables. He'd had the director have someone bring a couple of items from Gibbs's box in the evidence locker and they lay on the table.

Tony picked up the wallet and pulled out a card holding it up for John to see clearly. "This is your driver's license." He pointed to the picture. "That's you, right? You managed to keep your snarl down to a minimum for the picture." He pointed to the name. "That's your name. Leroy Jethro Gibbs. And see? You do have an address. Pretty big house for a single guy, but you need that big basement to fit the boat you were building."

John winced at the pain caused by a crystal clear picture in his mind of himself sanding the ribs of a partially finished boat in a dimly lit room.

"What's wrong?" Tony asked, noticing the other man's painful expression.

John could see himself sipping from a jar, laying it down amongst screws and nails on a dusty workbench. He shook his head and answered, "Nothing. Just a headache."

Tony eyed him, but accepted the answer. He grabbed the other leather wallet and flipped it open. "This is your NCIS identification. See those two words before your name? _Special Agent. _That's your job here. Along with the rest of us, you investigate crimes against Marine and Naval personnel. You're our team leader. Our _Boss _as we sometimes affectionately like to call you."

John moaned lightly and lifted his cuffed hands to rub his temples, glad he was no longer wearing the belt that prevented this. His voice was slightly pained. "How do I know these are real?" But even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. He could hear the voices from his memories calling him the names. _Boss, Gibbs, Jethro_.

"I don't know how to prove it any further, unless you want a DNA comparison which I'd be happy to comply with. Everyone in the building knows you. Your voice carries quite well when you're yelling at us." Tony was growing worried. His boss seemed to be in pain. "So, are we clear on your name? It's Gibbs, not John."

It had to be true. Irrefutable evidence had stared him in the face. He was having more memories the more people he met. Jonathan had thought this was enough to kill him over, so it actually must be a good thing. But why does trying to remember make his head hurt so much?

"Yes! All right, I'm Gibbs! I remember some, but—" His eyes scrunched in pain and he rubbed his temples again. "It hurts to try to remember!"

"Ducky!" Tony called.

"Right behind you, Agent DiNozzo. No need to yell." Ducky smiled at Tony's look of surprise. "Jethro, I'm glad to hear you remember your name." His look turned concerned. "Now, tell me what the pain feels like and when it occurs."

"Every time I remember something, my head starts to hurt a little. The more I work to remember, the worse it gets. It's like what a migraine would feel like."

"Where exactly does it start in your head?" Ducky crossed his arms in front of himself.

Gibbs lifted his hands as far as he could, pointing to the back of his head. "Lower part of the back and it works it's way forward."

"Had you received any head injuries during your captivity?"

Gibbs lowered his head, not really wanting to think of that. "Nothing too bad."

"Hmm," Ducky wasn't sure he liked the almost cryptic answer. "I'll need to do x-rays to rule out any trauma to the brain that could be causing your memory loss."

Gibbs head shot up. "What?"

Ducky held up his hands to show he wouldn't hide anything from Gibbs. "I just want to see if you're healthy and what that bastard has done to you. There will be x-rays, blood and urine tests, and a general check-up. I can do it all right here."

Gibbs was still too close to feeling like a guinea pig under Jonathan that the thought of being prodded again made him slightly panicky. "Look Dr.—" He had to think a moment. "Mallard?"

The doctor nodded. "You usually call me Ducky."

"No offense… Ducky… but I've kinda had my fill of doctors for a while." His eyes and voice were hard.

"Sorry, Boss. It has to be done." Tony's inflection showed his regret.

"We can't begin to undo what that man has done to you until we see the damage," Ducky tried to explain. "It will be quite painless, I assure you."

Gibbs blew out a breath of frustration and shook his head. He wasn't going to win this battle. "Fine!"

"Anthony, can we lose the handcuffs?"

"Sure, Ducky." Tony took the key from his pants pocket and removed the cuffs from Gibbs's wrists. He thought it prudent to remain in the room, just in case.

****************

Two hours later, Gibbs sat in an interrogation room alone, eating a sandwich and fries. He had to admit the testing and exam had not been bad at all. Ducky had heard some congestion in his lungs but it was mild so no medication was deemed necessary. He noticed the frown on the ME's face, however, when he'd listened to his heart. He'd performed an EKG and said he would speak to a cardiologist in the morning. Gibbs remembered the chest pain he'd experienced after running and was worried something was wrong with his heart. Jonathan had listened to his heart and said it was fine. Was that _another_ lie?

While Gibbs ate, the other agents were gathered in the bullpen going over what they had discovered so far and also eating their dinners.

"Dr. Jonathan Nesmith, age 46," McGee showed a photo of the doctor on the plasma television. "Licenses in medicine and psychology, both degrees from Harvard. He was just your average doctor until twelve years ago, at which time he quit seeing patients and went off the charts for several years. Until four years ago when he lost both licenses, with no explanation." He gave both Tony and Kate wary stares. "I won't tell you where I had to break into to find out what happened after that. It was buried deep."

"Nobody's asking, Probie," Tony commented. Kate smiled.

Tim cleared his throat, hiding his appreciation. "He began working with psychotic patients, using drugs he created to alter their brain chemistry in an attempt to make them normal. Not only that, but he also worked with interrogators; using his drugs against terrorists to get them to talk. Guantanamo was one such place."

Kate sighed. "Not good." Rumors of what went on there were atrocious.

"What happened?" Tony stared intently at the photo, wondering how and why he chose Gibbs.

"Apparently his drugs had adverse effects. Several patients and prisoners died from them; all heart attacks. The government, in this case CIA, hid what he did and had his licenses revoked."

"What about since then?" Kate asked.

"Except for a divorce three-and-a-half years ago, nothing. No bank accounts, no credit card activity, no other employment history," Tim reported. "I spoke to his ex-wife. She knew nothing of what he'd been doing. Said the last year of their marriage Nesmith spent very little time at home, and when he was there kept himself shut away in his den and did a lot of talking to himself. She wasn't much help at all."

"Sounds like he was heading off the deep end," Tony observed. "Kate?"

"His license registration is out of North Carolina. I checked the address in Roanoke; it's an apartment. The manager said he moved out a year ago and left no forwarding address. The Jeep Cherokee is down in the garage and the techs are going through it. I took a glance through it, but there's nothing obvious in it."

"Wonder where he's getting his money from?" Tim asked no one in particular.

Tony shrugged. "Maybe doing what he was doing before, but for private contractors. Mafia, other countries. Who knows?"

Kate spoke what was in the back of all their minds. "If he used drugs on those prisoners and he used a drug to kidnap Gibbs, it's pretty much given that he's been giving Gibbs who knows what kind of concoctions over the past five months."

"But why Gibbs?" Tim asked and then added in a more subdued voice, "And will he end up like those others?"

Tony knew about the EKG, but hadn't shared that with Kate or Tim yet. He decided not to worry them until there was reason to worry.

"What do ya say we go have a chat with Gibbs while we're waiting for his test results. It's time he let us in on what happened to him."

TBC

**I know Ducky's autopsy room probably doesn't have an EKG machine handy, but let's pretend it does. Okay?**


	16. Chapter 16

**Fading Away**

**By SherryGabs**

**Rated: T**

**Ahh, it's so nice not to have to call Gibbs John anymore! LOL. Thanks so much to all those who've read, reviewed and/or saved this to story alerts and favorites. I really appreciate it.**

**Chapter 16**

Having finished eating and downing the last of his coffee, Gibbs stood and walked back and forth across the length of the interrogation room. He let his arms swing wide, stretching them, enjoying the freedom from the handcuffs. He knew they'd be coming back eventually. Either to take him to a cell for the night or try talking to him some more.

He needed to decide how much to tell them. Half-truths? Everything? He couldn't remember much from the beginning, it was such a blur. But the last few months were fresh. The sessions, the punishments, hands and words that could go from cold brutal to warm comforting in the blink of an eye. Should he let the agents know he'd killed the lying bastard?

Then there was the reason he was in this room to begin with. The crimes he'd committed over the past few days. Crimes Jonathan didn't think to be good enough. The doctor had expected more violence out of him. Unfortunately, the good doctor bore the brunt of the violence he'd tried to create.

The agents or police didn't even know of the other crimes. Gibbs knew they were going to ask where he got all the money, the gun and the knife; and saying it was payday again just wasn't going to cut it. Holding anything important back would look bad for him and he was sure he was facing enough prison time as it was.

Gibbs felt himself a fool for continuing to believe Jonathan as long as he had. Sitting in the jail cell at the police station had given him time to reflect over the time he'd been held captive. He knew deep down Jonathan had used the injections and deep psychology to get him to believe that the doctor was only looking out for him. Since the injections stopped, his head had slowly become more and more clear. So when Jonathan had turned on him and tried to kill him, he finally saw the doctor for what he was.

He could remember a good part of his captivity; now he just wished he could remember things from before the captivity without getting such painful headaches. He knew he had to have a past and from what he'd been told by the DiNozzo fella and the doctor, Ducky, his past was here. The flashes of memory he'd had only confirmed what they've been trying to prove to him, so he believed he'd been an agent. But Jonathan had turned him into a criminal, and he was going to have to face what he'd done.

Just as Gibbs decided he needed to be up front about everything he could remember, the door to the interrogation room opened.

*************

Just as Tony was about to turn the knob to admit the three agents to the room, Ducky turned the corner and stopped him.

"I just reviewed Jethro's x-rays. There is no evidence of any blunt force trauma that would cause amnesia. However, there is some very slight swelling in the cerebrum; the largest part of the brain, associated with higher brain function such as thought and action." Ducky used his finger to circle the area on his own head before shaking it. "But that wouldn't cause amnesia either."

"Then what could be causing it?" McGee asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm thinking it could be an effect of the drugs he was given, or maybe even a mental block. Dr. Nesmith is a psychologist, after all."

"Can it be fixed?" Tony asked anxiously, turning his head when he heard shoes stomping down the hallway. Abby was running up to them waving a sheet of paper around wildly.

"Blood and urine results." Her entrance was much more exciting than her voice. "Slight traces of a few unknown substances; I have no idea what they are. But they're not the same as what he was drugged with before he was kidnapped." She let herself smile with the next bit, since it _was _something she recognized. "There is also an antibiotic in his system. _Someone _recently gave him a hefty dose of Avelox."

"He _did _have some congestion in his lungs. Maybe Nesmith was treating him for that," Ducky observed, taking the sheet from Abby's fingers.

"Ducky! What can you do?" Tony was getting a tad bit testy. It had been a long day and it wasn't over yet.

"Tomorrow morning I'm going to find a psychologist who specializes in the same field as that Dr. Nesmith does. Well, one that doesn't make a habit of killing their patients and kidnapping federal agents, that is." He shook his head at his own witticism. "They will have more knowledge than I in this subject area. Perhaps between us we can, hopefully, come up with a treatment plan."

"Might want to try the CIA first," Tony suggested. "Nesmith worked for them for a while, but I doubt they're gonna admit ever hearing of the guy."

"Yes, I'll do that." Ducky then pointed to the interrogation room door. "I understand you need to find out Jethro's story for the past five months, but I ask that you not make him try to remember any more than is comfortable for him. And don't keep him in there all night. He needs proper rest if he's had a lung infection."

"Don't worry, Doc. We'll be careful."

"I'm going to watch for a while from the observation room, if you don't mind. I'm very curious myself to hear what he has to say."

"Oh! Can I, too, Ducky? Please?" Abby grabbed his hands and implored him with her big green eyes. "I've missed him so much and haven't been able to see him. Well, except for that incident downstairs, but I guess I only have myself to blame. McGee did warn me."

"Are you sure?" Ducky asked her in a fatherly voice. "There might be some things you might not want to hear. Painful things."

"Ducky, I've been imagining the worst for five months. If it gets worse than that and I don't think I can handle it, I promise I'll leave."

Abby's voice and eyes held a maturity that impressed Ducky, so he nodded. "All right."

While they entered the observation room, Tony opened the door to the interrogation room.

Gibbs turned around and faced the door when he heard it open. Despite what he'd thought a moment earlier, a sudden defensiveness reared up now that the moment was here. His snarky side telling him he shouldn't make the interview too easy for them.

There were four chairs around the rectangular table. The three agents took all but the one facing the mirror. Tony gestured towards that chair, which had Gibbs's jacket hanging over the back. "Might as well get comfortable, this could take a little while."

Instead, Gibbs casually leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms in front of himself. "This is fine."

Tony sighed. _So this is how he's going to play it. Well, if he wants to stand, let him stand._

"Whatever." Tony opened the folder that held everything they knew so far. He picked up the picture of Jonathan Nesmith they'd printed out and laid it on the table for Gibbs to see. "Tell us about him."

Gibbs glanced at the picture and swallowed convulsively. He thought they'd start with his recent crime spree, not with him. He uncrossed his arms and put them behind his back. Unconsciously, he began rubbing his wrists.

"What about 'im?" Gibbs decided a tiny spot on the carpet looked more interesting than the photo.

"Why did he take _you_, Gibbs?" Kate asked. She knew she had to stay professional and not to give into her emotions. Her voice remained steady even though she desperately wanted to know. "What made him choose _you_?"

Gibbs shrugged a shoulder. He honestly couldn't remember exactly how it went at the beginning. That he had just been the lucky draw out of a handful of choices. "Maybe it was my dazzling personality."

Tony wasn't in the mood for sarcasm. None of them were. "No, Gibbs! You can cut the shit right now!" He stood up angrily. "When you disappeared, we were worried sick. We exhausted ourselves for weeks trying to invent nonexistent leads to try and find you. We never gave up hope. Hope was the only thing that held us together all these months."

Tony rounded the table and got in Gibbs's face. "And now that we have _finally _got you back, we can breathe again. But nothing will be completely right again until you're back to normal and that—" he pointed to the photo, "bastard is either dead or behind bars! So, you're going to sit down in that chair and answer our questions to the best of your ability. _Without _any smart-ass remarks."

Kate and Tim just stared at Tony in amazement that he would have the guts to get in the boss's face and yell at him like that.

Gibbs, too, felt he'd gone over the line after hearing the agent's diatribe. He hadn't thought of what they may have been going through because he hadn't remembered them or having worked here. Now he knew people _had _cared and they had given everything they had trying to find him. Even though his hand itched to smack Tony for getting so close, Gibbs stared him in the eye with a certain amount of respect and slowly walked around him and to his chair.

Tony breathed a silent sigh of relief as Gibbs sat down. He half-expected an infamous Gibbs smack. Hell, he might have even welcomed it for old time's sake; but he was just glad Gibbs had given in and done what he'd said. He returned to his own seat and waited for Gibbs to say something.

Before Gibbs would say anything he turned the picture of Jonathan facedown and pushed it across the table and cleared his throat. He would tell them everything. "I don't know exactly why he chose me because I don't remember much from the early days. I just know he wanted to change me and make me forget my old self; make me do things I wouldn't normally do."

The agents didn't need to ask what those things were. They'd seen the police report.

"He used drugs to do that?" Tony asked, even though he knew the answer.

Gibbs barely nodded. "Two shots every day." He hesitated a few seconds before adding. "And other things."

"How did he give you the shots?" Tim asked, doubting Gibbs would just stand there and take them without a fight. "Did he restrain you?"

The older man looked away and shifted in his seat. "Sometimes if he needed to get near me and I was being uncooperative, he'd use a taser to get me down. That's probably how he did it in the beginning, too. I gave up fighting the shots after a while; it was just easier to take them than get tasered again. He sometimes liked to remind me of the fight I used to have in me and how he'd broke it."

On the other side of the mirror, Abby put her hand into Ducky's. He understood her need and wrapped her arm around his. He needed the comfort, too.

Kate, Tim and Tony knew they were only scraping the iceberg, and as much as they wanted to show Gibbs how much they felt for him, they kept their stoicism.

"What were the 'other things' you mentioned?" Tony didn't really want to know, but had to.

Gibbs ran his hands over his face, releasing a deep breath, before putting his hands below the table and nervously rubbing his wrists again.

"He used time and sleep deprivation. I never knew what the time was, what day or what month it was." He shook his head. "I had no idea at all how much time had passed. I was kept chained up every minute of every day in a glass-walled cage that was wired to keep me too hot, too cold, too wet, too loud. All he had to do was push a button on his remote control."

Gibbs went on to describe everything from the overheated lighting to blaringly loud music that literally made him sick to his stomach. He was on a roll now and it actually felt good to tell someone of everything he'd been subjected to during his captivity. Kate had gone out of the room at one point to get him a bottle of water. The others could tell she'd been crying when she came back in.

He described the hours-long mind game sessions, the punishments and how in the last couple of weeks the dosages had been lightened, allowing his head to clear up some. What he didn't admit to was eventually trusting Jonathan and believing everything the man said. Even welcoming the comforting touches. He felt himself a gullible fool for allowing himself to do all that.

"How did you end up in Arlington?" Tony asked, wishing now he hadn't eaten earlier.

"Jonathan said it was time to see if his _project_ had worked. He gave me these clothes to put on and then he gave me a shot to knock me out. I woke up in an alley the next morning."

"He wanted to see if you'd do things you wouldn't have even thought of doing before. To see if you'd willingly break the law." Kate stated, the pieces of the five-month-long puzzle having fallen into place.

Gibbs just nodded.

"You had to have seen him since then to have his SUV in your possession." Tony pointed out.

"He picked me up a few days later. He'd given me a cell phone that had a tracker in it; that's how he found me. He wanted to know exactly what I'd been doing those two days. After I told him the stuff I'd done, he said it wasn't good enough. That I needed to get more serious about getting money to get off the streets."

"You were living on the streets those few days?" Kate asked with a slightly disgusted look. She hadn't really thought about it before now.

Gibbs gave her one of his patented stares. "Didn't exactly have enough cash for the Ritz-Carlton at the time, Agent Todd."

"Please, call me Kate," she managed to look contrite. "You always called me Kate before."

"Kate." The name did roll off his tongue in a familiar way.

"We'll get into those days later on," Tony said, "cuz that's a can of worms all its own that I don't want to get into right now. What I want to know is how you ended up driving Nesmith's Jeep Cherokee. Where is he, Gibbs? You want that prick to pay for what he did to you, don't you?"

Gibbs stared down at his scarred wrists. _Might as well give it up. It's gotta happen sooner or later._

"He already paid."

_That could only mean one thing,_ the agents thought as they stared at him nervously waiting for him to continue.

Looking back up, he looked at each one. "I killed him. Broke his neck."

Nobody said anything for a long moment. Tony broke the silence. "I hope you're going to add that it was self-defense."

Gibbs shrugged. "It was."

"Tell us about it."

"He could tell I was hungry and sick from sleeping out in the cold, so he took me back to his place to feed me, check me over, and let me get cleaned up. He gave me a shot of antibiotic and asked more questions while I ate. I let slip that I'd been having some memories. I didn't know they were memories at the time, but he said they were. He didn't seem very happy about it."

"Probably being off his drugs is allowing them to return. He must have thought that wouldn't happen." Tim told him.

"I guess. Anyways," Gibbs continued, "he gave me another shot of something and pulled me up the stairs. I started feeling funny… I don't know what happened after that." He shook his head with confused eyes. "Next thing I knew, I was waking up on the floor of that glass cell, which was in the basement. He was there and accused me of lying about having memories. Then he said the experiment was over and he was done with me. He couldn't take the chance of me remembering everything and his involvement in it, and that he would deeply regret my death."

Gibbs "hmphed" and took a drink from his water bottle.

"He pulled out his taser then and aimed it at me." Gibbs chuckled then, though it held no humor. "The goddamn thing didn't work! He tried again and that's when I took my chance. He'd dropped the taser and started going for the knife in his back pocket. Before he could get it out, I had my arm around his neck.

"After… afterwards, I searched his pockets and found a filled syringe. I knew that was how he was going to kill me. Tasering was alwaysfollowed by a needle."

Another silent moment before Tony sighed. "Sounds like self-defense to me. Is that it? Is that when you took his Cherokee and headed back to Washington?"

"Yeah. Well, I took his knife and the bit of cash he had on him." Gibbs held back on exactly how he'd left the corpse. He really didn't want to see their reaction at the moment.

"Just where is his place?" Kate asked, turning to a fresh page in her notebook. They had a body to go collect.

"I don't know what town it was near. I wasn't paying attention to signs on the way there. It's a ways from here, but I can probably take you there. It's a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, but there weren't many roads once off the freeway."

They heard the cackle of the speaker to the observation room. "Agent DiNozzo, a word please."

It was Director Morrow's voice. He'd joined the doctor and Abby early enough to hear most of the interview. As he waited for Tony to join them, he gave Abby's arm a gentle squeeze and handed her his handkerchief. She'd remained silent throughout the interview, but tears had been freely flowing. Ducky had been worried for her, but had been proud that she'd managed not to get hysterical as she'd been known to do when one of her friends was hurt.

DiNozzo joined the group in the room, closing the door behind him. He'd barely took another step when Abby threw herself into his arms.

"It's okay, Abby. He's going to be fine." He held her tight, hoping his words were true.

"I f-feel so bad for him! He's been through hell, Tony!"

"I know, but we'll make him better. Ducky's going to talk to some doctors tomorrow and see what can be done."

"Yeah, he told me. But what can _I_ do?" she sniffed.

Tony gently pulled her away, but kept hold of her forearms. "First thing, you're going to go down to your lab and lay down for a few hours. I'll need you rested for when we bring evidence back." Seeing she was about to refuse, he added, "Then I have a very special project for you."

"What's that?" Her curiosity got the better of her.

"It's going to be your job to fatten him up and get him to smile again."

"I think I can handle that," Abby smiled, becoming excited at the prospect and hugged him again. She couldn't think of a better way to help. "Thank you, Tony!"

He nudged her towards the door. "Now get down to your dungeon, Elvira, and _try_ to get some sleep."

"Okay." She doubted she'd actually sleep, but she'd at least lay down; grateful that Tony had given her something to occupy her mind.

After Abby left, Ducky smiled. "Very good, Anthony. She needed that."

Tony blushed. "No problem, Doc."

"I've already called Mr. Palmer in, he should be here soon so we can get going." Ducky had done this as soon as Gibbs had admitted killing Nesmith, knowing they'd be going out that night.

Tony nodded and turned to the director. "What did you want to see me about, Sir?"

"I'm going with you. I want to see that hell hole for myself. And, I'm sorry to say, but Gibbs _is _in custody; so we will follow protocol for transporting a prisoner.

Tony knew that meant handcuffs, and with regret, because he knew Gibbs was very uncomfortable in them. "Yessir. And speaking of protocol, I also need to call the police department to inform them he's leaving the Yard."

Twenty minutes later a caravan consisting of a car holding Gibbs, Tony, and the Director; the MCRT truck with Kate and McGee, and the Medical Examiner's van with Ducky and Jimmy were getting on the interstate heading towards the nightmare Gibbs had hoped never to see again.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

**Fading Away**

**By SherryGabs**

**Rated: T**

**I apologize for taking so long with this chapter. Just haven't been in the mood to write. I'd rather wait till in the mood, rather than give you several pages of crap. Hopefully, you still won't think it's crap. LOL.**

**Also, there's some sort of gruesome details involving a body. If you're sensitive about those things, you might want to skip that part.**

**Chapter 17**

Gibbs sat in the back seat of the car trying hard not to tug on the handcuffs that left his hands restrained in front of himself, because the noise sounded so loud in the quiet car. He now knew the man sitting in the front passenger was the director of NCIS. He'd introduced himself but, thankfully, didn't try to make Gibbs remember him knowing it might give him a headache. Even so, Gibbs remembered a man who demanded respect.

He didn't know what he had been thinking when he'd offered to show them to the farmhouse. He now regretted it the closer they got. Even though it was now dark, he was sure he could direct them correctly. He remembered a billboard near the exit that said something about some place having the best BBQ and had a cartoon pig with a chef's apron on.

Gibbs still hadn't told them of how he'd left the body hanging, certain to be pretty grotesque by now; yet still felt justified in his actions figuring the psycho doctor got what he deserved. Just how would the agents take to it? Would they think he was no better than the man himself? That Jonathan had done a far better job on him than they had feared? Didn't really matter… what's done is done. If he'd even thought of the future when he did it, he still would have hung the snake.

Driving down a bumpy gravel lane and into the long driveway, Gibbs's eyes locked on the house that stood against the night sky. The first floor was still illuminated as he had left it the day before. Despite his cool features, anxiety made itself heard by his long, deep breath and the jingle of the cuffs that he wished were not there.

Tony looked in the rearview mirror and Morrow looked over his shoulder at the change in sounds from the back seat. Other than Gibbs telling them where to turn and an occasional metallic sound, he'd remained silent the whole trip. They saw his eyes were glued on the house they were approaching, both wondering what thoughts were going through his head.

Parking the car at the side of the house, leaving room for the other vehicles to park, Tony switched the ignition off and turned to face Gibbs. "You gonna be okay going in there?"

_No! Hell no! _He wanted to shout. Instead Gibbs cleared his throat and mumbled, "Yeah."

The director and Tony looked at each other, both thinking that Gibbs wasn't the type prone to have a panic attack; but in his altered state of mind, being nervous or anxious could send him into a 'fight or flight' mode that could make him violent.

Tony was the first to walk in the unlocked back door followed by Gibbs, Morrow and the others, through the mudroom and into the kitchen. They spread out and the agents looked around the first floor as they donned their latex gloves.

They stared shocked at the eerie laboratory equipment knowing this was where Nesmith had most likely mixed the drugs he used on Gibbs. Tony couldn't help but feel like they stepped into one of the bad B movies he liked to watch.

He pointed to the computer. "McGee, we'll need the CPU to see what's on the hard drive. I also want any of that equipment that might hold any chemical residue for testing. Kate, take photos and bag anything else that could be useful." He looked at them both. "The whole nine yards."

"Sure, Tony," Kate's cheerless voice was tinged with a bit of anger aimed at the ghoulish scene. Tim nodded, eyeing the rooms with a frightened gaze. One that matched Ducky's exactly. Palmer just looked confused.

Gibbs stood in the corner where the countertops met in an 'L'. Director Morrow took the few steps toward him and asked, "Where is he?"

Gibbs jerked a thumb toward a closed door off the kitchen. "Down there."

"Do you want to go down with us or stay up here?"

A cold chill ran down Gibbs's spine at the thought of going near that cell. "Rather stay up here if you don't mind." He also wondered at what their reaction would be at finding the way he had left Jonathan's body and didn't want to see it personally.

Knowing each one of them would be busy and unable to keep an eye on Gibbs, Morrow looked around for a solution of how to keep him from wandering off should things prove to be too much.

"DiNozzo, may I have your handcuff key, please?" he asked, pulling a chair from the table and sitting it next to the refrigerator.

Tony pulled out the key and handed it to the director. He could see what Morrow had planned when he had Gibbs sit in the chair.

"Sorry, Jethro, but it has to be this way." Morrow unlocked one wrist and snapped the cuff onto the refrigerator door handle. Gibbs wouldn't be able to go anywhere without having to pull the refrigerator along behind him.

Instead of releasing the sharp retort going through his mind, _Don't worry 'bout me, I'm used to it!_ Gibbs just nodded once and stared at the back door. _Maybe I should have waited outside._

Tony gave him a sympathetic look before leading the rest of them through the door that led to the basement.

A faint odor hit them as soon as the door was opened. Tony found a light switch at the top of the stairs and flipped it on. The light illuminated the stairs, but beyond that didn't need the extra light.

When the group gathered at the bottom of the stairs, they could only stare at the spectacle that met them. The glass cell just as Gibbs had described it, brightly illuminated and permeating a heat that they could feel from where they stood. Slowly approaching the cell, the door to which stood wide open, they could feel the heat getting stronger. But what kept their rapt attention was the body that hung limply from the ceiling.

"Holy cow," Jimmy whispered. Dr. Mallard had read him in on the latest as they drove to the site, but he still couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Gibbs did this?" He knew the man had a hard side but had never witnessed it for himself.

Nobody answered as they approached the bloated body. They observed a remote control, syringe, taser gun and empty money clip scattered on the floor and they stepped around them. It was obvious the man's neck was broken, just as Gibbs had admitted to.

It was painful looking up with the lights so high and they all had to blink spots away. "Can we get these damn lights turned down?" Morrow asked, already breaking into a light sweat.

Tony remembered what Gibbs said about the remote control operating everything. He picked it up and studied it a moment. Finding the right button, he was able to lower the lights to a comfortable level.

The dead doctor's face and hands, which weren't protected by clothing were burned red and blistered. "It would be difficult to judge time of death with the elevated body temperature. I will go by what Jethro has told us for now." Ducky squeezed Jonathan's calf and pushed on his abdomen. "Rigor mortis has set in, as has gases. Shouldn't be much longer before he's more pliable, but I fear we will have to dislocate his shoulders to get him into the body bag."

He looked at Tony and Morrow and shook his head sadly. "If I didn't think the bastard deserved this I'd feel sorry for him. How is this going to reflect back on Jethro?" He gestured towards the cuffed, burned hands.

Tony pointed to the syringe. "Gibbs is sure that syringe is filled with something that would have killed him. I don't question it was self-defense." His eyes bore into the director's, pleading for understanding. "You heard Gibbs describe what happened to him here. He probably felt justified in giving Nesmith a taste of his own medicine. You and I may not agree with how he went about it, but I don't think he needs any more dumped on him. He's been through enough."

Morrow sighed and let himself vision Gibbs hanging there being subjected to the same treatment. He nodded. "I agree. Doctor Mallard, you will keep whatever's not necessary out of your report."

Ducky knew what he meant and agreed wholeheartedly with a slight smile. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been asked to not reveal the whole truth of an autopsy. Sometimes the deception left a bad taste in his mouth; this time it wouldn't.

Tony breathed a sigh of relief. "Let's get to work." He once again looked at the remote to find the right button to lower the body to the floor. There would be no photos of him hanging. Ducky searched Jonathan's pockets for a key to the handcuffs. Finding it, he released the man's wrists. He and Palmer both grabbed hold of an outstretched arm and forcibly pushed them downward, effectively dislocating his shoulders with a double crunch, just as Ducky thought would happen.

The director had seen enough and decided to go back upstairs while they did their jobs. It was making them sick thinking about what Gibbs had endured month after month in this prison. While Tony got more and more angry the more he imagined, Ducky only got more saddened for his dearest friend. _Oh, Jethro, what horrors have been inflicted on you. Can we ever make you whole again?_

While his agents and MEs did their jobs, Morrow re-entered the kitchen and pulled another chair over to sit across from Gibbs. He sat quietly a moment thinking, then met the other man's worried eyes with his own.

"You could have warned us." He didn't need to clarify, knowing Gibbs would know what he meant.

Gibbs rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand and stared down at the floor for a few seconds before looking back up. "Yeah, I guess I should have, but he had it coming."

Morrow nodded. "Yes, I suppose he did." He then reached over and squeezed Gibbs's shoulder. "Don't worry about it."

Gibbs couldn't hide his surprise. He'd expected quite a fallout from what he'd done. Expecting a 'desecrating a corpse' charge added to his list of offenses. Morrow could see the unasked question.

"He _did _deserve what he got. There will be no charges resulting from the cause of his death or what occurred afterwards." He almost smiled at the look of disbelief on Jethro's face. "Unless you _want _there to be?"

"No, sir," Gibbs answered quickly enough. He felt some weight lift off his shoulders. "I was just expecting…"

"More charges. Yes, I know. Like I said, don't worry about it." He didn't miss the fact that Gibbs had called him 'sir', like he used to do. Jethro had always showed him respect and he returned it in kind. "There's no point in taking this any further."

Gibbs nodded appreciatively. "Thank you."

They sat in companionable silence for the time it took the agents to finish collecting evidence. Morrow realized worrying that Gibbs might have a post-traumatic episode was unfounded. The man was handling this quite well.

Ducky and Palmer had already carried the body out, with Gibbs following with his eyes still glad the bastard was dead, and were on their way back to Washington. By the time the rest of them had finished and they themselves had returned to the Naval Yard, it was the middle of the night and they were exhausted. Just as he had told Ducky and Palmer before they left, Morrow told the three agents to get some sleep and start fresh late in the morning. There was nothing that couldn't wait.

Tony escorted Gibbs to the lock up and removed the handcuffs. "Sorry the accommodations aren't better."

Gibbs looked at the clean well-padded cot and pillow and thought back to the police station cell, the streets he'd spent a few days on, and the five months on a cold concrete floor. He chuckled. "Compared to what I've gotten used to, this is paradise."

Tony's heart clenched at the words and the sound of the cell door closing. "Look, Gibbs, I can only imagine what you've gone through and it's killing me to do just that. I just want to say I'm sorry it had to happen to you." He swallowed past the lump in his throat. "But I'm sure as hell glad you made it back."

Gibbs looked at him, cautiously amazed at the sincerity in Tony's voice. He couldn't remember exactly the extent to which these people were his friends, but felt it must have went beyond the basic working relationship. His instinctive gut was telling him that every word these people had told him was true. Unlike the lies that Jonathan had made him believe, he certainly was _not _alone in this world. He felt ready to admit that.

"Jonathan was always telling me that there was no one else who cared whether I lived or died; that only he did. I believed him."

"He lied!" Tony's anger was palpable. It had to have taken a hell of a lot of drugs and brain washing to have made his boss believe that. He wanted to punch the wall in disgust at how that doctor had raped Gibbs's mind. And that's just how he saw it as… mental rape.

"We care, Gibbs. _I _care!" Tony lightly punched his own chest over his heart. "Not a day had gone by, barely an hour had gone by, that I hadn't thought of you. Wondering if you were alive and well, or laying dead somewhere. It's been the same with all of us—McGee, Kate, Ducky, Palmer, Abby." Tony's face looked pained at the memories. "Abby cried for weeks. Not always in front of anyone, but we could all tell. She's really put on her brave face since then, though. I'm proud of the way she's held up."

Gibbs thought of the girl who'd practically knocked him over with her hug. He'd reacted badly and had felt guilty at seeing how hurt she'd been that he couldn't remember her fully. Then he studied the face of the man talking to him. The pressure must have been tremendous on him these past months. Having to take over as team leader _and _dealing with the issues of keeping everyone from falling apart. Gibbs suddenly felt very humbled.

"I do know he lied… _now_. He lied about a lot of things; I just couldn't see it until he said I needed to die. By then my head had cleared up enough to finally see him for who he really was."

"Between his drugs, the psychology and torture he really did a number on you, Boss. It had to have taken a hell of a lot to get you to think his way. I don't know anyone stronger than you. He was that good at what he did."

"Yeah," Gibbs agreed with a sigh. He knew just how good the doctor was. But he didn't want to think about Jonathan anymore that night. He felt he needed to let Tony know how much he appreciated his efforts. He may not remember much of his job, but he knew he'd left some very big shoes to fill.

"Look, DiN—Tony—I can imagine how rough things have been for you. The load on you has had to have been tremendous, but you seem to have handled things extremely well. I'm proud of the fact that you stepped up the way you did and held everything and everyone together." Gibbs cleared his throat, uncomfortable at being so open. "You're doing a great job."

Tony was just as uncomfortable at accepting praise. Gibbs never just dished it out. He saved it for a job that an agent went above and beyond what was necessary to get done. His face reddened and he stammered, "It was really a team effort."

"Maybe. But a team is only as good as it's leader." Gibbs smirked at the man's embarrassment. "Accept a compliment when it's given. You deserve it."

Tony nodded and smiled shyly. "Thanks, Boss." He shifted his feet. "But I'll be glad to hand the reigns back over when you're ready."

Gibbs smirk became a frown. He turned and walked to the cot, sitting down and leaning back against the wall. "I don't think that's ever going to happen."

Tony stared at him, figuring what was going through the man's mind. The legal problems, his memory, possible heart problems, not knowing if Nesmith's work in getting Gibbs's personality to change would fade or hang with him. It seemed like a huge mountain of trouble right now, but Tony was adamant about keeping positive.

"I'm not ready to give up yet, Gibbs. Give it some time. Things just might work out in the end."

Gibbs wanted to laugh at the impossible odds facing him, but couldn't muster the energy it would take. All he could see was a long, black tunnel ahead of him leading to a very bleak future.

"I'm pretty tired. I'd like to get some sleep now."

Tony took the hint, understanding Gibbs wanted to be alone to think. "I'll see you later."

Gibbs waited till he heard the door at the end of the hall close and the lights go out before lying down. Deep down he hoped Tony was right, but couldn't stop the nagging doubts. He really _was _tired and it didn't take long for him to slip into sleep. He dreamed a lot during those hours. Dreams of the people he was coming to know again, seeing them and him in situations he was sure were real.

His final dream was of a pretty red-headed woman and young girl. His heart ached and he woke suddenly to wet cheeks and a damp pillow. _How could I have forgotten them? Shannon, I'm so sorry! God, I'm sorry! Please forgive me…_

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

**Fading Away**

**By SherryGabs**

**Rated: T**

**Thanks so much for the reviews from the last chapter. They were great!**

**Warning: Abby alert! :-)**

**Chapter 18**

Gibbs sat up on the cot, breathing hard and shaking. He assumed it was morning since the corridor lights had been turned back on, but the light did nothing to comfort him. His head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice as he recalled his wife--his kindred spirit. Their marriage ceremony and all-too-short honeymoon. Their lives made even more special two years later when his precious little girl was born. Eight more years of bliss, broken only during his times of deployment. How it tore his heart to leave them, especially that last time. Kelly had begged him not to go, and it had broke his heart to disappoint her.

Gibbs held his head between his arms and moaned out loud when he thought of how they died. Tears squeezed from between his tightly closed lids thinking of the memorial service and after how his life no longer held any meaning; how badly he wanted the pain to end.

_No! Stop it!_

Just as _something _had stopped him from pulling that trigger all those years ago, that same something told him to stop dwelling on their deaths. It brought on too much pain thinking about it. He forced himself to go back earlier and think of the happiness and love they shared. They had something special and rare that not many people would ever have. He considered himself lucky to have had that time with them.

Gibbs felt the pressure in his head lessen as he tried to keep his thoughts positive. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and concentrated on the warmth and love that always shone from his two girls. They were a salve to his heart and mind whenever he would come back from a particularly bad mission. Missions that he would never admit to them what he'd done.

His breathing evened out and the shaking had stopped. Gibbs laid back down picturing his girls mixing cookie batter, covered in flour and shortening, and giving him messy hugs. He dozed off again with the pain in his head almost gone.

"Gibbs?" After several seconds of no response, she tried again a little louder. "Gibbs?"

He woke slowly to the vaguely familiar voice. Opening his eyes, Gibbs saw the young woman whom he'd pushed off himself yesterday. Sitting up and swinging his legs down to the floor, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Seeing her outfit, he recalled someone who always wore crazy looking clothes and usually had her hair in pigtails, just like now.

"Abby."

Her eyes lit up thinking he might have remembered her, then her face scrunched into a questioning look wondering if someone else had told him her name. She had been warned by Tony not to force him to remember too much as she began carrying out her special mission.

"Got it in one, Gibbs. Not bad." She held two food containers stacked in her hands, topped with a large styrofoam cup, and a gym bag over her shoulder. "I brought you breakfast and coffee… actually _us _breakfast. I thought it might be nice if you had some company while you ate." She held the coffee cup through the bars. Gibbs got up and walked to the door to retrieve it and the container Abby then held at the food slot.

"Thanks." He gave her a slight smile, hoping to ease her worries if she was afraid he'd snap at her again.

She smiled back with a bit more hope. Reaching into her pocket, Abby pulled out a plastic fork wrapped in a napkin and handed it to him. "The guard--Kevin, said I can't go in there with you without someone else being here, so I'm gonna just sit on the floor right here. Okay?" She sat down Indian-style on the floor outside his cell, glad she'd worn pants that day so she could be comfortable. Putting the gym bag on the floor she explained why she had it.

"After breakfast you can go take a shower. I stopped by your house and picked you up a change of clothes, your razor, a comb, deodorant, and your toothbrush and toothpaste. Kevin took the toiletry bag, but the rest is in here." She was a little nervous and couldn't help rambling. "Of course, after you were…" Abby looked up alarmed that she might cause him stress, but he only stared back with an interested expression. "After you were taken, we had to put locks on your doors cuz you never seemed to believe in them, but it was a crime scene and had to be protected. So Tony has the keys and he gave one to me so I could get your stuff. You don't mind do you?" Abby chewed her lip nervously.

It took Gibbs a second to catch up. "No. It's fine." His intuition told him she was an honest and trustworthy person, even if a bit hyper. Without even trying he was getting images of her bouncing around excitedly, anxious to tell him some news. He'd hand her a large drink and a peck on the cheek as thanks. _What was that drink called?_

"Oh, good." She noticed he was still just holding the food container. "Eat up before it gets too cold." She opened her own breakfast and pulled out another fork for herself. "You know you really surprised me, Gibbs. I thought for sure you were the tighty-whitey kind of guy. I was impressed with all the colors and styles in your underwear drawer. And all so neatly folded." She glanced up to catch his reaction and was happy to see him try to hide a smile as he sat down on the cot.

Mystified by the young woman, but captivated by her exuberance, Gibbs was able to shake off the sadness he'd felt earlier. He took the lid off the container and eye-balled all the food stuffed into it. A ham and cheese omelet, hash browns, stewed apples and a blueberry muffin. "You must have thought I'd be hungry."

Abby swallowed her mouthful of muffin. "You should be by now. I've seen you put more than that away." She pointed to her own food. "I've got the same thing you do. If I can eat it all, so can you." She didn't know where she'd put it all, but she would eat every crumb if it meant Gibbs would eat everything too.

"Actually, I am pretty hungry." The aroma wafting from the food started his stomach rumbling. Digging in and mmming in appreciation of having such a decent meal, Gibbs had to ask between bites. "How do I rate such service?"

Abby looked at him like he was crazy. She waved her fork around as she explained just how important he was to her. "Because you're _you! _You're Gibbs. The boss man. Papa Smurf. The silver-haired fox." She suddenly looked embarrassed. "Well, only I ever called you that. You're like Yoda to Luke Skywalker, you're our mentor. You have this amazing, like psychic ability of always showing up just at the right moment. Whether it's to smack Tony on the head for being… well… Tonyish; or when my Mass Spec suddenly dings or AFIS finds fingerprint matches." She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "You're just always _there. _Always at the right time… being supportive for all of us, and we love you for it. But I'll be damned if I'm going to let you be treated like a common criminal. I hate that you're locked up in here." She now had tears in her eyes. "And I'm going to make it as pleasant for you as I can. That means bringing you clean clothes every day and good meals and—" She became flustered and didn't know what to say.

Gibbs head was spinning slightly from her words and memories they brought to the surface. So many that the nagging pain began in the back of his head. He didn't want to distress her or bring himself more pain by trying too hard to remember small details. He forced himself not to think about the past but what Abby was doing for him now. He knew she had had a special place in his heart. She'd said the day before that she was his favorite and he could see that being true. Abby was like sunshine bursting through gray clouds, able to warm even someone like him.

"Your company." He finished her sentence for her. He smiled when her features went from stressed to surprised to one of the most brilliantly happy smiles he could ever hope to see again. Gibbs relished in the memories he could remember more easily now that they'd come through the dark depths.

"Aww, Gibbs," she wanted to cry at what he'd said. "That was like so sweet!"

Slightly embarrassed, Gibbs deflected. "Speaking of sweet, it's not often I see you without a Caf-Pow." He smirked as she tilted her head, eyeing him suspiciously.

"You remember!" She put her plastic container down on the floor and jumped to her feet. "How much! What exactly do you remember?" She held onto the bars and bounced on the balls of her feet.

Gibbs put his own food down next to him and stood up also. "I can't really concentrate too hard on too much at a time, but I remember you're the best forensic scientist there is. That you're addicted to sugar and caffeine, and that you like to think you're my favorite."

He tried his best to keep a serious face as her eyes grew stormy. "I _am _your favorite!"

Abby stomped her foot when Gibbs grinned. "You tricked me!" She couldn't help but laugh at his devilish side. She had missed their verbal sparring, along with something else.

"Gibbs?" She once again chewed nervously on her bottom lip. "Can I have a hug?"

Her pleading eyes reminded him so much of his daughter's. He may have disappointed his little girl, but he wouldn't disappoint _this _girl. "Sure."

It took some maneuvering to get their arms through the bars just right, but they succeeded and held each other for a long moment. Abby wanted to hold on for as long as possible, she had five months of hugs to make up for.

Gibbs kissed Abby's forehead tenderly before they separated. "Thanks, Abs. You've made me remember there's a lot here that I've missed." He tweeked her nose. "Like you letting me be the only one to call you Abs."

"Well, Tim and Tony try to slip it in sometimes, but I remind them that only you have that privilege."

Gibbs smile slowly faded as unwanted thoughts came to mind. He turned around and made his way back to the cot to sit down.

Abby noticed and wondered what had happened to their happy moment. "Is something wrong?"

He couldn't lie to her. She had become his brightest ray of light since being reunited with his friends. It had been nice to forget his troubles for a few minutes, but this happiness would prove to be fleeting.

Gibbs shrugged and raised a hand in frustration. "It's just that I _finally_ could feel good about something. Being back with you all and remembering what I do about you and the others. But I'm only here temporarily. As soon as everything's figured out and the complete story told, I'm heading back to Metro. I have an outstanding appointment with a judge. There's felonies involved and it _could_ be a long time before I see any of you without a cage between us."

Abby frowned deeply, her voice sad. "I don't want to think about that."

"I _have _to think about it. I have to face reality."

Abby looked down a moment, then looked back up. Her face now shown with determination.

"No! Reality is only relative to how you choose to look at things." She grabbed onto the bars again, attempting to shake some sound out of them. "You have to think positively, Gibbs! I always try to think positively." She searched her mind for helpful ideas. "Tony and Ducky can talk to the judge. They can explain everything. After he hears what happened to you, he'll realize that you didn't have any control. He'll drop the charges and you'll be free." Abby implored Gibbs to see her view of things.

Gibbs had to wonder if she even knew what the charges were. He didn't know if anyone had told her. He didn't want her believing in a fantasy, so decided to be blunt.

"I beat up three cops, Abby. I mugged a drug dealer to steal his money to pay for a hooker!"

Abby _had _known about the cops and the undercover vice sting, but refused to accept his negative attitude. "It wasn't really _you_!"

"Then who was it?" came his sharp retort.

"It was John. _John_ did those things." She pointed at him with a fierce determination to get her point across. "_You _are not John. You are Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. You need to separate the two and realize _you _never would have done those things. The judge will look into Jethro Gibbs's records and see what an upstanding and heroic man he is and how much he's done for his country. He will see John as a victim. A drug-poisoned, tortured, brainwashed victim. He will see that John had no control whatsoever as to what he became. The judge will absolve _both _of you. Then whatever is left of John can fade away, never to be thought of again."

Gibbs could only stare in wonder at her. He knew she believed every word she said and that she was probably very proud of her conclusion. His skeptical, experienced mind wished he could see the situation as simply as she did. He didn't have the heart to force her to see his reality… that he and John were one in the same. Instead, he looked at the Goth woman in her pigtails and Mary Jane shoes, looking like an innocent, eager, overgrown four-year-old and laughed softly.

"What's so funny?" she wanted to know.

"I just can't find an argument to all that." He lifted his arms in surrender. "You win."

"Good," Abby said as she thought back on her own words as if she couldn't believe she'd been that coercive. Shaking her head, she gestured towards his breakfast. "Now eat up. I want you back to Gibbs strength before you go face the mean judge."

"Yes, ma'am," Gibbs saluted her and picked his meal back up. "As long as you do, too."

"I can handle that." Abby sat back down to finish her meal. After a couple moments of quiet eating, she looked back up and observed Gibbs. Smiling brazenly, she said something that would remind him of what a brat she could be.

"I like your hair longer like that." She wiggled her eyebrows. "It's really hot!"

Gibbs almost choked on his eggs. Shaking his head and laughing, he said, "Only you, Abs. Only you."

TBC

**Question: In regards to men's briefs… is it tighty-whitey or tidy-whitey? I really don't know. LOL.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Fading Away**

**By SherryGabs**

**Rated: T**

**My brain finally clicked and let me figure out how to fill in this chapter! Yea! Sorry it's taken so long.**

**Thirty-two days till school starts and my kids aren't under foot anymore! WooHoo‼ Heaven help all mothers with teenagers.**

**Chapter 19**

After breakfast was finished, a now happy and relieved Abby went back to her lab to get busy on the overwhelming amount of evidence brought back from the farmhouse. Tim showed up about an hour later after getting a few hours of sleep, shower and fresh clothes. His first task was to go through the hard drive of Nesmith's computer. Kate joined them to see if she could be of any help since she couldn't really do anything until she'd gotten results from them.

While they worked, a much fresher Tony joined Ducky in autopsy. Unlike the others, who had decided to go home to rest and freshen up, Ducky had chosen to perform the autopsy on Nesmith as soon as they had gotten him to headquarters. Since the cause of death was obvious, it didn't take long. Only then did he permit himself to lay down on one of his tables to get some sleep after sending Jimmy home. The reason for getting it done earlier was so that he could concentrate on making phone calls as soon as the business day began at 9:00 a.m.

"He was, otherwise, a very healthy man physically," Ducky finished telling Tony of his autopsy findings on Nesmith as he closed the drawer that held the body. "I couldn't say the same about his mind, I'm sure."

"Speaking of head shrinking, were you able to find someone who could help us with our Gibbs problem?" Tony asked, looking at his reflection in the shiny steel of the drawer cover and fixed a stray hair.

Ducky nodded and sat down at his desk. "It took a lot of smooth talking and several call transfers through the CIA switchboard, but I was eventually connected with a psychologist who works with interrogators. I explained the situation, without mentioning Jethro's name, and asked if he was familiar with Jonathan Nesmith. He became very quiet for a moment and I feared he would hang up. Instead he gave me the name of a Dr. Sandra Bergstrom. Said she had worked with Nesmith and that she would know his work better than anyone." Ducky chuckled dryly. "I got the insinuation he wasn't impressed by Dr. Nesmith's techniques and was glad he never got the pleasure of working directly with him."

"Did you get a hold of her?"

"Yes, I did," Ducky smiled triumphantly. "She, apparently, is the one who pushed to have Nesmith fired and would very much like to come here and give us any assistance she can. The doctor is in private practice now and said she could come in about 5:00, after her last session for the day."

"Fantastic, Duck!" Tony exclaimed, glad to see this happening so quickly. "Way to go!"

"Ahh, but I'm not finished." Ducky raised a finger and his eyebrows, then his expression became a bit more serious. "I also contacted a cardiologist friend of mine. I described Jethro's symptoms and his EKG reading. Horatio thinks—"

"Horatio?" Tony laughed. "Just like the CSI: Miami guy? How cool!"

Ducky gave him a look that said he had no idea who Tony meant. "Do I have to Gibbs-smack you to keep you on topic?"

Tony cleared his throat and his smile disappeared, properly chagrined. "No. Sorry." He really did understand the seriousness of the subject matter, but just couldn't help himself at times.

Knowing this, Ducky continued. "As I was saying… Horatio thinks there may be some heart damage. He'd like to see Jethro early this afternoon for an Echo and CT scan. Do you foresee any problems with us getting Jethro over to the hospital's cardiac center by 1:00? It should take no more than a couple of hours at most."

"No problem, Duck. Either Kate or I will have to go with you both; McGee's pretty busy. Maybe by the time Dr. Bergstrom gets here, we'll have more information from the chemical analysis of the lab equipment Nesmith used and whatever Probie finds on the computer. She may be able to identify and translate some of the chemical compositions."

"And their long-term effects." Ducky added. He raised his finger again as he remembered something important. "I'll have to tell Abby not to give Jethro lunch because of the CT scan's contrast dye."

"I'll take care of that. I'm heading there next." Tony offered, walking towards the door and calling over his shoulder. "Thanks, Ducky!"

"I'll inform Jethro of our impending trip to the hospital!" he shouted after Tony. The agent waved his arm to show he'd heard.

"Hope the dear boy's in a good mood today," Ducky muttered to himself worrying over Gibbs reaction.

**ooooOOOoooo**

Tony whirled through the lab's door carrying a drink holder full of large cups. Two of the coffees he sat next to Kate and McGee, who looked up in surprise that he'd actually be thoughtful. Next to Abby he sat a Caff-Pow and the fourth cup was his own coffee. He threw the cardboard carrier into the trash and stared at the monitor Abby was watching while her fingers flew over the keyboard.

"Whatcha got, Abs?"

She eyed him with a smile. "Are you like channeling Gibbs, Tony? You sound just like him." She took a long drink with a noisy slirp as she released the straw. "But Gibbs, and only Gibbs, can call me 'Abs'. Got it?" Her eyes grew hard and her fist raised to within inches of his face.

Tony eyed her warily. "Got it my mistress of the dark." He cleared his throat upon hearing Kate chuckling. "What do you have for me, Abby?" He corrected with a look of adolescent innocence.

Abby smiled triumphantly. "Better." She grew serious as she plastered several formula diagrams onto the monitor. "I've analyzed residue from Dr. Jekyl's lab equipment." She pointed to each one. "I was able to break things down to individual components, but I still cannot for the life of me figure out what some of them are! It is just so aggravating!" She let the sides of her fists slam down onto the table. "There are files on his hard drive that are password protected. Those probably are the files where he's got the formulas' ingredients listed. Timmy's got a password cracker running, but that could take a while."

Tony studied the diagrams that were total greek to him before shaking his head and giving up. "Ducky's found a doctor who used to work with Nesmith. She'll be here late this afternoon and she might be able to help you decipher a lot of this."

"Great!" Abby felt relieved. "The password cracker should be done long before then. I'll print out hard copies of everything for her."

"That's fine. What about the syringe we found in the cell. What was in it? Was it lethal like Gibbs was told it would be?"

"Very lethal." She went to another table where evidence bags were laid out. Finding the one holding the syringe, she held it up. "This is potassium chloride. It would have killed him instantly." Her voice hitched at the end.

Tony and Abby stared at each other, both thinking of what could have happened if Gibbs had not been able to overpower Nesmith. Tony gave her a gentle, brief hug of reassurance and whispered in her ear, "Good job, Abby."

He rounded his attention to McGee and Kate. "Find anything else interesting on the computer?"

"Lots." Kate supplied. "The doctor kept detailed journals which he didn't bother to protect with passwords."

Tim called up one of the journals. "This one he began about a year before he took Gibbs." He summarized what they'd read. "He begins by saying that he had finally mastered the perfect behavior modifying formula. He then goes on to describe his process of finding the _'perfect test subject' _to use it on. He had a list of names and a complete background of each. One of them being Gibbs. He weeded that list down to five candidates."

"Want to know how he decided which candidate to choose?" Kate said with disgust. "He put the names in a hat and picked one." She couldn't believe it when she'd read it. "He picked Gibbs's name."

Tony bowed his head and shook it at what appeared to be a very unlucky draw for Gibbs. "What qualifications did these guys need to be chosen?"

"Strength of character, morals, ability to withstand both physical and mental pain." Kate voice still held a hard edge. The journals were the most disturbing things she'd ever read and they hadn't even finished with them yet. "He wanted to take an otherwise law-abiding, upstanding man and turn him into a violent psychopath."

_Why? _Tony wanted to shout in frustration. _Why in the hell would he even think of doing something like that?_

As if reading his mind, Kate, who had extensive profiling experience added, "I think he wanted to prove that he was not the inept psychologist that he was proven to be. He wanted to show that he had the power to completely change a person's personality and character traits. It was a huge power trip for him."

_Fucking sadist is what he was! _Tony thought. _The proof is downstairs locked in a holding cell, where he sure as hell shouldn't be._

Keeping these thoughts to himself, Tony ran his hands through his hair and huffed out a breath. His anger was palpable.

"The other journal?"

"Umm," Tim didn't want to add to Tony's stress, but knew it was inevitable. "The other journal goes through every day, _in great detail_, from the day Nesmith planted the drug in Gibbs's house till only a short time before he was killed. He talks about everything he did to Gibbs and what his results were. We've only been skimming through it and haven't finished yet. It's pretty long."

"It's horrible, Tony!" Kate shouted. "Gibbs just scratched the surface when he described his captivity. Nesmith goes through every detail, every response from Gibbs!" Her voice broke and tears filled her eyes as her face reddened. "Gibbs may have physical scars on the outside that might fade with time, but the scars on the inside may never heal."

Abby had been listening, horrified with what she was hearing. When Kate broke down, her own dam burst and she threw herself into Kate's arms. They held each other and cried. Cried at their own frustration and anger, and cried for their boss and his damaged soul.

An uncomfortable McGee and Tony stared at everything except the crying women, waiting for them to calm down. Several minutes later when it looked like they may be settling Tony told McGee to put the journals on a memory stick for the doctor coming later that day.

"Dr. Bergstrom is a psychiatrist. She can read through it and hopefully give advice on how to help Gibbs recover."

"Sandra Bergstrom?" McGee looked up in interest.

"Yeah. You've heard of her?" Tony was surprised at that.

"Yes. When I was attending FLETC, she came in and gave a lecture on interrogation techniques. She was tops in the field before she went into private practice. She's got an excellent reputation in the private sector, too."

"She was also instrumental in getting Nesmith fired from the CIA from what Ducky said," Tony added.

Abby sniffled and with a hope in her voice asked, "Do you think she'd be willing to help Gibbs?"

"We can talk to her about that after she's studied everything. She may be just what Gibbs needs." Tony added with his own bit of hope.

"The question is…" Kate hated to be a bubble burster. "Is Gibbs going to be willing to turn himself over to another psychiatrist after what Nesmith put him through? He never liked them before that."

Tony had to agree with that. Gibbs never made it a secret that he disliked head shrinkers. _His _name for them.

"Well, let's get through today first and see what she can offer." Tony suggested. "In the meantime, finish going through the journals in case there's something significant." He turned to the lab rat. "Abby, Ducky said not to give Gibbs lunch."

"Why?"

"Because he's going for a CT scan and Echocardiogram early this afternoon and can't eat beforehand."

"What?" The other three people in the room shouted at once.

"Why would Gibbs need those tests done?" Kate asked, confused.

Tony visibly winced, forgetting he'd left them in the dark about the abnormal EKG Ducky had ran because of Gibbs's chest pains.

"What haven't you told us, Tony?" Abby punched him in the arm.

"Ow!" He rubbed his arm. "Guess I deserve that." He sighed, knowing he had to fess up. "Look, I just didn't want you guys to worry. When Ducky was examining Gibbs, the boss said he'd had some chest pains after some heavy running. Ducky ran an EKG and was worried about what it said. We're taking Gibbs to a cardiologist to get him checked by an expert. Ducky seems to think it's from the drugs Gibbs was given."

Tim thought back. "The background check on Nesmith said some of his interrogation suspects had died from heart attacks because of his drug mixtures. In his journal he mentioned that he was positive he'd overcome that problem."

"Yeah, well, Gibbs is still alive, isn't he?" Tony pointed out, wanting to be positive. "It could be nothing."

"Yeah, maybe. But you still shouldn't have kept it from us," Kate eyed him angrily.

"Okay. You're right," Tony admitted. "But let's not let Gibbs see us worried about him. All right? He doesn't need the added stress."

"Does he know he's going yet?" Abby asked. Gibbs hadn't mentioned anything about it over breakfast.

"Ducky said he'd tell him; he's probably the best candidate for that job. I'll be going with them, we need to be there by 1:00." Tony checked his watch. "Which is coming up quick."

"You better let us know what happens, DiNozzo!" Abby threatened with another raised fist.

"I will!" Tony promised her. "Just keep thinking positive thoughts." He quickly walked from the room before more threats could be thrown at him.

"I always think positive thoughts," Abby muttered, crossing her arms. But even as she voiced the words, she couldn't help but worry about the man who meant so much to her. _He has to be okay!_

**ooooOOOoooo**

"How are you holding up, Jethro?" Ducky stood on his side of the bars studying the younger man who stood leaning in a corner of the cell.

Gibbs had been lost in his thoughts and hadn't heard the doctor approach. He blinked and visibly shook himself back to the here and now.

"Okay, I guess," Gibbs shrugged. "Bored out of my skull."

"Yes, I guess you would be." Ducky nodded in understanding. "You've always been one to keep busy." He gestured towards Gibbs's clothing. "I see our Abigail has been by this morning. She chose well, you look quite comfortable."

Abby had put thought into the clothing she chose. Knowing Gibbs would not be allowed a belt or shoestrings in the cell, she had chosen sweatpants with a snug elastic band and sneakers with a Velcro closure. The gray UCLA sweatshirt would keep him warm in the cell.

"At least I don't have to worry about my pants falling down anymore," Gibbs tried to joke, but couldn't seem to find a smile to go with it. He pointed to the UCLA on his shirt. "Did I go there?"

Ducky chuckled. "Oh heavens no! You've never set foot inside a college as a student. You're much more of a hands-on learner than a book learner. You have so many shirts with various logos on them. I have no idea how you accumulated them all." Ducky breathed out deeply, knowing he had to let Jethro know of their trip to the hospital.

"But that's not why I'm here. From your complaints of chest pain and the EKG I ran on you yesterday, I feel it's important to get you checked further. Therefore, I would like to take you over to Washington Hospital for a further exam by a cardiologist and a couple of tests will be needed, namely a CT scan and an Echocardiogram."

Gibbs peeled himself off the wall. He crossed his arms and stepped forward a few feet. "But it's not _that _bad and only happened when I ran too far."

Ducky nodded. "True. But it shouldn't be happening at all. You'd always been very healthy and fit until…" He trailed off not wanting to say it.

Jethro finished it for him. "That bastard decided to make me his guinea pig." He dropped his arms down to his sides and approached the bars so he'd be face-to-face with the doctor. "He did something to me, didn't he? All those drugs—is that it? When he took me back to his house to check me over, he listened to my chest. He got a funny look on his face, but said everything was fine. He lied, didn't he?"

"Yes, Jethro," Ducky answered softly. "When I listened to your heart, I heard a quiet whooshing sound between beats, a murmur. The EKG showed an irregular rhythm. I do suspect the drugs he gave you is causing it."

"That's why he decided to kill me!" Gibbs surmised angrily. "It wasn't just that I was having memories. He knew he'd made a blunder in his drugs and decided to cut his losses and get rid of me!"

"Jethro, please calm down." Ducky held a hand up in a calming gesture. "It may not be serious at all. It could very well be treatable."

"Or I could keel over from a heart attack tomorrow!"

"Not likely." Ducky did his best to be reassuring. "We won't know for certain how extensive things are until after the tests. Don't go picking out a casket just yet."

Gibbs shook his head at the unfairness of everything. He was never one to wallow in self-pity, but a guy can only take so much until that black hole wants to swallow him up.

"When do we leave?"

**ooooOOOoooo**

Entering Washington Hospital Center a little while later proved to be uncomfortable for Gibbs. Not only was he worried about the testing, but the stares he received from people were really beginning to piss him off. They noticed his cuffed hands and the ankle bracelet that his sweatpants didn't cover. They eyed him warily and gave him a wide berth as they passed.

Ducky noticed the stiffness of Jethro's posture and couldn't help but see for himself the attention they were getting.

"Anthony, do you think you could remove the handcuffs? I don't think they're particularly necessary inside the hospital."

Tony knew proper protocol required they stay on until needing to be removed, but he felt bad enough for Gibbs without subjecting him to the scrutiny he was getting. _It's not like he's Charles Manson!_

"Sure, Ducky. Once we get inside the elevator."

Luckily, they were the only ones occupying the elevator up to the cardiac floor. Tony removed the cuffs, sticking them in his pocket. "Just promise you won't take off for that Starbucks we passed down the road for a caffeine fix." The way he said it made it obvious it was a joke, but the sudden pain on the back of his head forced him to realize not everyone thought it was funny.

Though it was painful, Tony grinned like he'd just won the lottery. "I see your memory's getting better and better every day, Boss."

Ducky smothered a chuckle, but his eyes were merry. Jethro kept a typical Gibbs-style glare on Tony, but after only a few seconds became more of a twinkle that accompanied the upturn of one side of his mouth.

Tony couldn't help but sigh in happy satisfaction.

**ooooOOOoooo**

Fifteen minutes later, they were accompanied from the waiting room to an exam room by a medical assistant, stopping to take his weight along the way. She had Gibbs take his shirt off and put a gown on, telling him to sit up on the table. She noticed the scarring on his wrist when she went to take his pulse, but being the professional she was, didn't comment on it. She took his blood pressure and temperature, entering the information on a laptop that had a file on him open. She also took a brief health history before closing the laptop, unplugging it and taking it with her out the door, telling the men that the doctor would only be a moment.

Gibbs was nervous and released a heavy breath after she left and the room became silent. Tony took a seat in a corner chair while Ducky remained standing next to the patient.

"Relax, Jethro." Ducky put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Horatio is an excellent cardiologist. He'll find what's wrong."

Gibbs just nodded, not wanting to voice his worry. The atmosphere was tense enough as it was.

It was only a couple of moments before they heard a light knock on the door and it opened to reveal a man in a white coat. He appeared to be around sixtyish with gray thinning hair. He had a stethoscope around his neck and carried the laptop that held Gibbs' file.

He held out his hand to Ducky and smiled. "Nice to see you again, Donald. It's been too long. How's your mother?"

Ducky shook the doctor's hand with both of his. "Her dementia is a challenge, but she is as sprite as ever. How's Ellen?"

"Doing her best to be voted the most doting grandmother in Maryland," he laughed, thinking of his wife.

He then turned to Gibbs, holding out his hand to shake. Gibbs took it somewhat reluctantly. "I'm Dr. Johnson. Do you mind if I call you Jethro?"

Gibbs shook his head.

Dr. Johnson plugged the laptop in and opened Gibbs' file. He took a moment to read the information before turning back to his patient. "Donald has given me an overview of what has occurred to you over the last several months and his concern of damage to your heart from the drug use. How long have you been off the drugs?"

Gibbs swallowed. He was very uncomfortable. Not only being forced to discuss his captivity with a complete stranger, but he had a general dislike of doctors to begin with. With the exception of Ducky.

"Umm, I've been out for almost a week and they were stopped a while before that. I'm not sure how long before, but long enough for my head to clear somewhat."

"We still don't know exactly what the drugs consisted of," Ducky informed him.

"Hmm, hmm." The doctor typed in a note on the laptop and continued to type as he asked, "Your chest begins to hurt after several minutes of running? What does the pain feel like?"

Gibbs unconsciously laid his hand over his heart. "Sharp, crushing. I had a hard time catching my breath. After a few minutes of rest, I could breathe easier and the pain went away."

Dr. Johnson finished his notes and stood up in front of Gibbs. "Okay. I'm going to listen to your heart. Just breathe normally."

The doctor spent a couple of minutes listening to Gibbs' heartbeat from both the front and back. He then listened to the lungs and had Gibbs take deep breaths.

Removing the ear pieces from his ears, the doctor wrapped the stethoscope around his neck again. "There is a slightly irregular heartbeat, but I'm not hearing any murmurs, gallops, or rubs."

"I know I heard a murmur yesterday," Ducky insisted.

"I don't doubt you, but it's not there now." Dr. Johnson thought a moment. "I think I'd also like to add a stress test besides the Echo and scan. We'll do that first, since the others will require an IV and medications."

"Whatever you think is necessary," Ducky told him, then turned to Gibbs. "Are you ready for some exercise, Jethro?"

**ooooOOOoooo**

Three hours later Ducky, Tony and an exhausted Gibbs sat in Dr. Johnson's office. The doctor had shown Ducky the pictures from the CT scan, which still hung on the lighted box on the wall, and also the results of the Echo and stress test. But he hadn't discussed his thoughts yet.

After taking his seat behind his desk, the doctor went over his diagnosis. "I'm not convinced that the drugs played a major part in your arrhythmia and chest pains." He smiled when he noticed Ducky's confused look and turned his attention back to Gibbs. "Your weight went from 170 down to 143 lbs, you were malnourished and didn't get sufficient exercise while you were a prisoner. You were only allowed sporadic sleep. Your lungs show you've had pneumonia also. A mild case from the looks of it, but there's still a bit of scarring. Your problems are most likely caused by these stressors. I can't find the kind of damage that drug use would cause or any damage to the heart's chambers or valves."

"Does that mean it's treatable?" Gibbs asked, not understanding if there would be any difference in what caused them.

"Oh, yes."

Tony let out an audible sigh of relief, and reached over to touch Gibbs' arm. Ducky did the same on the other side.

"I'm going to prescribe Lanoxin. It will help control the heartbeat and make the heart work more efficiently. You need to eat a well-balanced diet to get your weight back up. Heavy on proteins, low on caffeine. You'll need an exercise program to get you back to the strength you were before, particularly aerobic; but start out slow and work your way up. I'd like to see you again six months. If everything looks good we can probably discontinue the Lanoxin."

_I'll probably be in prison in six months. _Gibbs thought to himself, gloomily. He was relieved to know that his heart problems weren't all that serious, but couldn't seem to share the happiness that Tony and Ducky were exhibiting.

Gibbs nodded his thanks to the doctor, while Ducky and Tony were a bit more verbal about it.

"It could have been much worse if you hadn't been in such good shape beforehand," Dr. Johnson. "You can get there again."

**ooooOOOoooo**

They had enough time to drop the prescription off at a pharmacy near their headquarters before returning to meet with Dr. Bergstrom. Tony filled Gibbs in on the doctor and their hopes she could identify the drug formulations and understand the psychology Nesmith had used on him.

Knowing she was the same type of doctor and had done the same kind of work Jonathan had been doing for the government, Gibbs had absolutely no desire to meet or speak with her. He was more than happy to just be taken back to his cell where he could lie down, rest, and ponder more about his future.

TBC

Well, that turned out kinda long. Hope you liked it.

I am not a doctor, but did take a medical transcription course a few years back. You wouldn't believe the number of reports I typed that contained the words "No murmurs, gallops, or rubs". LOL. So please disregard any glaring medical errors. I'm not a writer who insists on perfection.

Well, you could probably see that. LOL.


	20. Chapter 20

**Fading Away**

**By SherryGabs**

**Rated: T**

**Chapter 20**

Dr. Sandra Bergstrom arrived in the lab at 5:10, escorted by a security guard. Tony and Ducky had arrived only moments before, after dropping Gibbs off in holding. Abby, Kate and Tim were happy and relieved to know that Gibbs's heart problems were not serious.

Earlier in the afternoon, the password cracker had done its job, revealing the password that let them study the various formulas Jonathan Nesmith had created and the ingredients used in them. They had also completed going through the second journal's entries. The last one stated the disappointment that Nesmith had felt about "John" having had some memory recall and the potential heart problems he thought he had conquered with his new formulas. Yet he boasted that he had still achieved to do what no other doctor had accomplished before. He also mentioned that he would probably miss John. He'd gotten used to having him around, but couldn't risk keeping him alive.

"Wouldn't he be pleased to know his drugs weren't the cause of Jethro's arrhythmia and chest pains," Ducky stated with much and obvious displeasure.

"Let's just be glad he's not around anymore to use them on anyone else," Kate squeezed Ducky's shoulder gently.

Dr. Bergstrom was a sturdily-built woman in her mid-fifties. Her dark, lightly gray-streaked hair was pulled back with a barrette. While attractive in a matronly sort of way now, Ducky guessed she was probably quite fetching in her youth. She shook each of their hands firmly, looking them in the eye as each introduced themselves.

"A few years back you gave a lecture on interrogation to my FLETC class," Tim doubted she'd remember him, but wanted her to know he knew of her expertise. "I was highly impressed with your work in anti-terrorism."

"Thank you, Agent McGee," Dr. Bergstrom smiled warmly. "While I'm proud I could do something of significance for our country, I find private practice to be much more rewarding on the human level. I was never fond of the CIA's tactics in interrogating terrorists." Her eyes showed mixed emotions on the subject. "Even if they were necessary."

She turned to Ducky. "Dr. Mallard, I'm very glad you contacted me. I must admit my curiosity was piqued when you explained what Jonathan had done. How is Agent Gibbs?"

"Please call me Ducky, everyone does." Ducky told her with a quick bow of his head. "Physically, he's recovering. He's regaining some memories, though it pains him to do so. He gets bad headaches when he tries. Since his release from captivity, he's displayed criminal and violent tendencies he's never displayed before; which were exactly the results Dr. Nesmith had been hoping for. Little did he know those tendencies would be the cause of his demise."

"Agent Gibbs killed him?" There was no accusations in her tone, just professional curiosity.

"Yes. He broke the doctor's neck." Ducky affirmed.

"It was self-defense," Tony felt the need to add. He didn't want the doctor thinking Gibbs was a cold-blooded killer.

"I understand, Agent DiNozzo, I'm not judging," she reassured him. "What do you know of the drugs Jonathan used on Agent Gibbs?"

Abby handed her paper printouts of the same formulas she was about to call up on the large monitor. "Not much," she said as she keyed up the information on the monitor so all could view it. The first images were of complete formulas. "I'm no expert on psychological drugs, so much of this has been hard to decipher." She then switched to individual components to parts of the formulas. "These are original ingredients the doctor created and mixed himself. I haven't been able to recognize what they are. That's where we hoped you could help."

The doctor took several minutes to study the individual components on the screen. She then flipped through the pages she held finding and studying the complete formulations, often referring back to the individual components on the monitor, asking Abby to advance through them as she needed.

After several long minutes she sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. "Jonathan, what the hell have you done?" she muttered softly to herself.

"What can you tell us?" Ducky asked, his worry obvious.

"Jonathan always thought brain-altering drugs was the way to go with dealing with terrorists and violent criminals. Some of these I recognize from when we worked together. Unfortunately, he used our prisoners to test them on; several with fatal results. I'm figuring these others are advancements on the originals. Except, he's reconfigured them to do the opposite of what they should have. Instead of the patient becoming less violent, they become more violent and antisocial."

She went on to explain, in technical terms and to the horror of others in the room, that the drugs Jonathan had given Gibbs were designed to alter his brain chemistry. She guessed to the best of her professional abilities that the reasoning and behavioral parts of his brain had been altered to make him react violently to situations, repress his natural morality and replace it with behavioral attributes normally seen in career criminals.

When she was done, the others remained silent for a moment letting the information sink in.

"What about his memories? Did the drugs also cause him to forget everything?" Kate wanted to know.

Dr. Bergstrom shook her head. "I don't think so. Knowing Jonathan, I think he used psychology, mental and physical torture to make Agent Gibbs forget. Without knowing what exactly went on during the captivity, I can really only speculate."

Tim handed her a memory stick. "There are two journals on this. The second one is a day-by-day account Nesmith kept of the duration of Gibbs's captivity. He goes into great detail of what he did to Gibbs and what he observed of the drugs' effectiveness." He cleared his throat. "It really is quite disturbing."

"I've no doubt about that." She took the memory stick and put it in her briefcase, along with the formula printouts. "But I'll be able to see exactly what he did and how he did it. Jonathan was always meticulous with his notes."

"I know you need to review everything before you can even begin to devise a treatment," Ducky began, "but what do you think the chances are of reversing what was done to Jethro?"

The doctor thought carefully. "I think his memory problems can be fixed. As for the behavioral problems… let me read through everything tonight and think on it. I'll contact you sometime tomorrow and let you know."

"I'll look forward to hearing from you." Ducky held out his hand for her to shake. "We do appreciate you taking an interest in this case."

She shook his hand. "I just wish Jonathan would have been dealt with before he could get this far. When I complained to the CIA's director and pushed that Jonathan be fired, I had hoped they would deal with him legally considering he caused several deaths and was experimenting in things he shouldn't be. Instead they covered everything up and pretended it never happened."

"That's the CIA for ya," Tony barbed. "Typical for them."

"Also the reason I'm in private practice again." She turned and started towards the exit, stopping and turning back around before leaving. "I'll do everything I can for Agent Gibbs. It's the least I can do."

After she left, Tony put his arm around Ducky's shoulders. "I have a good feeling about her. I really think she'll be able to help the Boss."

Ducky had to agree with that. "I have a good feeling also, Anthony." But the slight smile and twinkle in his blue eyes, unnoticed by anyone else, hinted that those feelings weren't completely professional.

"Oh!" Abby suddenly shouted, running towards the lab's refrigerator. "Speaking of Bossman, he hasn't eaten since this morning. He must be starving!"

"Well, you've been kinda busy, Abby," Tony reminded her.

"I know. But you gave me a job to do and I take that job very seriously." She did take her job of getting Gibbs to eat to heart. She pulled a couple of bags out of the fridge along with a Caf-Pow. "I'll just grab him a coffee from the cafeteria instead of going to the coffee shop."

"Oh, Abigail," Ducky stopped her before she could leave. "The cardiologist has put him on very restricted caffeine use. Also he needs extra protein, and I think a little extra carbohydrates would be beneficial also."

"Already thought of all that, Duckman," she smiled. "And I plan on getting him half-caf coffee." She shrugged sympathetically. "Can't cut him off completely, you know." 

**ooooOOOoooo**

Gibbs sat up on the cot, his back against the wall, rubbing his forehead. He'd taken a short nap after returning from the hospital. Short, only because he'd woken up suddenly, trying to catch his breath. He'd dreamt of hanging from the ceiling of the glass cell, handcuffs digging into his wrists painfully, and the water cannon beating into his chest and back.

The water torture had always left him breathless and that feeling had worked its way into his dream. He had recovered from that, but a headache left him feeling drained. He attributed it to stress from the hospital visit and the fact he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He was about to tell his rumbling stomach to "shut the hell up" when he heard the door open at the end of the hall and the sound of quick footsteps tapping along the concrete floor.

"Hey, Gibbs! Sorry I'm late!" Abby practically skidded to a stop in front of his cell. "I couldn't leave the lab any earlier. You're probably starving by now, but I knew you'd want coffee, so I took a minute to get that. Sorry, but it's light caffeine. Ducky told me you weren't supposed to have caffeine, but I just can't make myself totally cut you off. It's like your life's blood, and who am I to deny you that."

Gibbs got up and went towards her, wondering how she could talk so quickly without taking any breaths. She continued on, handing him the coffee cup between the bars.

"Hope it doesn't taste funny. And here's a submarine sandwich." She squeezed the long bag between the bars. "Turkey, swiss cheese, pickles, and honey mustard dressing. I remembered you getting that from Subway once so knew you'd like it. There's also an apple and a big chocolate chip cookie." She smiled. "Thought you'd like a sweet treat after that stinky trip to the hospital."

Gibbs' mouth watered and his growling stomach thought the cookie sounded more than good. "Thank you, it sounds great."

He went back to his cot, settled down, and treated himself to the cookie first. After a couple of appreciative bites, he tried the coffee. He could tell the difference in taste from normal coffee, but figured it could be worse if it was totally decaf.

Abby sat herself down on the floor and dug into her bag. She'd ordered her favorite sub, all veggies with Italian dressing, and gotten a cookie for herself. She, too, decided to eat dessert first.

"I'm glad your heart problems aren't worse. We'll get you back into shape in no time. Ducky said the pharmacy will drop off your prescription here and he'll bring it by as soon as it does and give you a dose."

Not one for voluntarily taking any medication except for headache and muscle pain relief, Gibbs wasn't too thrilled with the idea of having to take a pill every day. But the thought of having chest pains and a racing heart was even less thrilling. "Hmm, hmm," he muttered, rather than talk with his mouth full.

Each finished their cookie and opened the wrappers of their sandwiches. Abby made small talk while they hungrily devoured them, getting little more than grunts in return from Gibbs. Abby didn't seem to mind, being used his nonverbal ways. She had more than enough conversation in her for the both of them. Gibbs' headache was nearly gone. He was feeling better by the time he finished his sandwich and picked up the apple. At least until Abby said something he didn't particularly want to hear.

"Ducky found a doctor who'll understand the drugs used on you. We gave her Nesmith's formulas and the notes he kept on everything about them and you. She's looking through them tonight to see what she can do. She also said she can help you get your memories back."

"Yeah, he told me about her." Gibbs voice was subdued.

"Won't it be great to be able to remember everything again?" Abby was excited as she took a long drink of her Caf-Pow.

Gibbs had no intention of letting the doctor get anywhere near him. Any psychiatrist or psychologist for that matter. The idea terrified him after being in the clutches of one for five months. A chill ran down his spine at the thought of any doctor getting inside his head and forcing him to see things he didn't want to see or trying to change him.

Getting no response from Gibbs, Abby looked up at him and repeated. "I said won't it be—"

"I heard you!" He winced at the sharpness in his own tone, not meaning for it to happen.

She frowned when she noticed the look on his face. _Is that fear? _She couldn't believe it. _Gibbs is never afraid of anything!_

"Are you okay?" she asked timidly.

"Yes," Gibbs lied. He decided he better make his point of view on the subject clear. "But you can tell that doctor that she's not getting anywhere near me."

"She can help you!" Abby implored. "Don't you want to see if she can reverse the damage done to you? Don't you want your memories back?"

"Not that way. I'd rather they just come back on their own."

"And if they don't?" Abby got to her feet. "Look, Ducky went to a lot of effort to find her."

"I don't care!" His anger rising, Gibbs tossed the apple back in the bag, along with the sandwich wrapper and coffee cup, even though it was still half full. He got up and pushed the bag through the bar into Abby's hands.

"I'm not talking to her and that's final! Thank you for the food. You can go now."

"But—" She stopped her words when Gibbs turned his back on her and walked towards the opposite wall. He didn't turn back around and she took that as a clue that he wouldn't be saying anything more.

"Fine." Abby muttered then collected her own trash. She sighed at his stubbornness and knew she needed to find Ducky.

Once outside the locked door leading to the prisoners' cells, Abby threw the trash in a wastebasket and dug her cell phone out. Using his speed dial number, she waited only a couple of seconds before he answered. "Ducky! Where are you?"

"In the squad room. Tony and I were about to bring Jethro's medication down to him."

"I need to talk to you guys, Ducky. It's important… it's really bad important!" Her voice was rising along with her speed.

"Calm down, Abigail. I take it this has to do with Jethro?"

"Yes! He said he's not going to talk to Dr. Bergstrom. No way, no how!"

"Oh my, this is not good. We'll be right down," Ducky assured her and closed his phone.

"What was that about?" Tony asked after Ducky closed his phone.

"She apparently filled in Jethro on Dr. Bergstrom's visit and he said he's refusing to speak with the doctor."

"I was afraid of that," Kate chimed in from her desk. "He's bound to be distrustful of any kind of psychiatrist."

Tim walked over from his desk. "Can he be forced to talk to her? Legally, that is?"

"I'm pretty sure only a judge can order him to be evaluated," Kate informed him, then added, "If it's deemed he needs treatment and he doesn't do it voluntarily, he could be committed." Her troubled eyes revealed her feelings at the thought of Gibbs being locked up in a mental ward. The others shared her feelings, knowing Gibbs would hate it, considering it worse than prison.

"Well, Tony, let's go see if we can talk some sense into the man," Ducky said, then held up the prescription bottle along with a bottle of water. "And give him a dose of this."

Tony nodded and then addressed Kate and Tim. "You two go on home. I'll call you later to let you know how it went."

"Good luck." Tim told them, meaning it from his heart.

**ooooOOOoooo**

Ducky and Tony let Abby rant for a moment before making her go home, promising to call her as well. They walked through the door into the holding area, approaching Gibbs' cell with trepidation, yet determined to get their advice across. They found Gibbs pacing his cell, arms crossed over his chest. It was obvious he was still agitated.

"Jethro, I have your dose of Lanoxin." Ducky opened the bottle and shook one pill out into his palm. He held it out through the bars and waited for Gibbs to take it. "I must warn you that it could make you nauseous or cause minor headaches, but I think you'll tolerate it well enough."

Gibbs stared at the hand a few seconds, then up at Ducky's and Tony's faces. He'd heard the conversation they'd had with Abby. The door wasn't exactly soundproof and things echoed quite nicely with the cement walls all around. He knew they were going to try to talk him into speaking with that doctor.

_Not if I have anything to say about it!_ He swore to himself, walking the distance to take the pill from Ducky and the bottle of water.

He tossed the pill into his mouth, opened the bottle and gulped down a few swallows. He then put the cap on the bottle and tossed it onto the cot. Staring once again at the two men, he decided to get the ball rolling—in a most challenging voice.

"So say what you came to say."

Realizing surprise was not on their side, Ducky cleared his throat. "I really believe it will be beneficial for you to talk to Dr. Bergstrom. She will only help you, not hurt you."

"No." He said it simply, but with determination.

"Dammit, Jethro!" Ducky ire was raised. "I know the thought of talking to a psychiatrist is terrifying for you at the moment. I understand that, but she is not like Jonathan Nesmith. She was the one who had the man fired from the CIA after seeing what his treatments were doing to the prisoners."

Gibbs was mildly surprised at hearing that, but he would not be deterred. "I don't care, I'm not talking to her-or anybody for that matter."

Tony spoke up in a quiet voice, showing his worry. "Gibbs, if need be, we can have a judge order you to be evaluated. If you refuse, you could be institutionalized to make it happen." It was an empty threat; at least he hoped. He could never see himself putting his mentor in a place like that. He ignored the sharp look Ducky gave him.

Gibbs eyes drilled into Tony in disbelief. He gave himself a moment to think. He'd rather spend the next 20 years in prison before being committed to a psychiatric hospital. He was _that _opposed to any head doctors. Deciding what would be best for him, in _his_ opinion, Gibbs frantically came to a conclusion.

"I want taken back to jail. Now!"

"What?" both Tony and Ducky exclaimed in shock.

"You heard me!" Gibbs wrapped his arms around himself and paced again. "Look, I've told you all I remember about Jonathan and what he did to me. I showed you where his body was. You have everything you need from me so there's no reason for me to stay here any longer."

Ducky and Tony could see that Gibbs was desperate in his attempts to avoid Dr. Bergstrom by wanting to go back to Metro jail. But they had to keep him there and get him to see reason. Tony knew how to keep Gibbs there a bit longer.

"You can't go back yet. I still need to talk to you about the things you did after Nesmith released you. The things you still have criminal charges pending on."

Gibbs shook his head in anger. "Fine! Let's do it right now."

Tony crossed his own arms. "It's too late tonight. It'll have to wait till tomorrow sometime."

"You're just stalling." Gibbs wanted to shake DiNozzo in frustration. "I am _not _going to change my mind!"

"Jethro, will you please just listen to reason?" Ducky implored. "We all just want to help you get over this. Dr. Bergstrom wants to help you get your memories back. That's the first step."

"NO, goddammit!" Gibbs was feeling a rage building up. An uncontrollable anger that made him want to lash out. The best he could do from inside the cell was grab the water bottle from the cot and throw it hard against the bars. It slammed into the iron hard enough to break the plastic, sending water flying in every direction. Tony and Ducky reactively took a step back, ignoring the small amount that hit them.

It wasn't enough to stave off the burning in Gibbs' blood so he rushed to the bars and slammed his fists into them before grabbing hold of one in each hand. He stared intently at Ducky, then at Tony.

"I want taken back to jail in the morning." He was breathing heavily, his anger burning in his eyes. "If you won't, I'll demand the phone call I refused after getting busted and call them myself to come get me. Now get the _fuck _out of here and leave me alone or your heads will end up like that bottle!"

Ducky's frightened shock showed more openly than Tony's. Tony managed to keep his face and eyes neutral. But the chill that went up his spine had turned him cold. He felt Ducky push him toward the door and turned to walk to it under his own steam. After closing the door behind them, neither could say anything for a moment. Both were acutely aware they had witnessed a small part of just how violent it was possible for Gibbs to get when pushed hard enough. He'd already proven he could assault and even kill when provoked enough.

"Geez, Duck. Gibbs has always had a temper, but that…" His arm waved at the door, his eyes pained and confused.

Ducky nodded gravely. "Jethro is going to get help… whether he wants it or not." He breathed out a long shaking breath, then his angry blue eyes met with Tony's green ones.

"Burning in hell is too good for that bastard that did this to Jethro."

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

**Fading Away**

By SherryGabs

Rated: T

**Sorry for the long delay. Many thanks to those who are still reading and those still reviewing. Also thanks to DesertAire for her note of encouragement. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 21**

Gibbs didn't sleep well that night. His anger eventually burned out, leaving him exhausted, yet unable to succumb to a peaceful sleep. When he did sleep, nightmares made him relive his captivity. In his dreams Jonathan's face would change into that of a monster. Into that of Satan himself, red eyes promising pure evil.

Between sleeping and nightmares, he lay in the darkness thinking of the threatening outburst he'd directed at the people who he was supposed to be friends with. His rational side knew they were trying to help him, but the paranoid side of him kept forcing him to see that head doctors were all the same as Jonathan. Deep down he knew that not to be true, but he couldn't help the way he felt.

In attempts to try to avoid sleep, Gibbs purposely opened his mind, hoping to find more memories of the people and the job he'd been separated from. The memories were there, he could see flashes; but there was a hurdle blocking the full pictures he couldn't seem to get over. Of course, the harder he tried, the worse his head would ache. But if the pain would keep him from sleeping, he'd welcome it. Involuntarily and inevitably, he would fall asleep again, only to waken a short time later, abruptly and frighteningly.

He also realized the decision to be returned to Metro jail had been rash, a gut reaction to the feeling of being cornered by Ducky and Tony. He could be in either cell and still be forced to see a psychiatrist by a judge. At least here he knew he was cared about enough for his coworkers to go to the trouble they were trying to help him. But at Metro jail he would be just another face, another number; he wouldn't stand out. He wouldn't be surrounded by people wanting him to do things he didn't want to do. Maybe he _would_ be better off there.

**ooooOOOoooo**

The rest of Team Gibbs didn't fare much better over the night. Though not plagued by nightmares, each was kept awake worrying about their boss and friend. Tim, Kate and Abby had all been upset when called and informed about what had happened between Gibbs, Tony and Ducky.

They hadn't been able to read the journals thoroughly, just skimming them because of their length. But that had been enough, along with what Gibbs had told them, to understand why he was refusing Dr. Bergstrom's help. But wanting to be taken back to jail before he had to was difficult to understand. They could only peg it to the man's stubbornness and desire not to face the demons that needed dealt with.

When Kate and Tim stepped off the elevator into the squad room the next morning, they found Tony already at his desk staring at his monitor, which wasn't even turned on yet.

"Morning, Tony," Kate said, putting her purse away before sitting down and turning her own monitor on.

When she got no response, Kate turned to Tim and shrugged. Tim looked at Tony and saw his mind was in deep space. He went over and waved his hand in front of Tony's face. "You in there, DiNozzo?"

Tony came out of his self-induced trance, shaking his head. "What?"

Kate smiled indulgently. "What were you so deep in thought about?"

Tony sighed. "The boss. What else."

"Any ideas?" Tim asked.

"Yes, McEnquiring mind." Tony came out from behind his desk and leaned on the front of it. "Gibbs is adamant about _not _speaking to Bergstrom." He shifted his eyes between the two agents. They could sense something mischievous behind that look. They weren't wrong.

"What I'm thinking will be breaking several of his civil rights, not to mention will probably piss him off enough to chew through the cell bars to get to whoever's closest."

"What are you thinking?" Tim asked suspiciously, though he had to wonder if he really wanted to know.

"Forcing him to talk to her," Tony stated, standing up straight. "Not telling him anything ahead of time. Just put her in there; outside the cell, of course. He won't be able to get away from her. Maybe eventually, he'll give in and speak."

Kate wasn't too sure she liked this idea. She decided to be the devil's advocate. "Or he may not. It could be just be hours of silence. He's a very stubborn man,  
Tony. He could throw another tirade and end up hurting himself if he can't get to her. What are you going to do? Drug him to keep him nonviolent?"

"Hey, that's not a bad idea," Tony thought of the possibility.

"Tony, I was kidding!" Kate shook her head and stood up. "You know how much trouble you could get into?"

"What harm could a little sedative do?" He asked innocently, maybe hoping someone would agree with him.

"Little harm to Jethro, but it could cost you your badge."

The sudden voice behind Tony made him jump and he clasped his hand to his pounding heart. "Geez, Ducky! You been taking lessons from Gibbs on how to sneak up on people?"

Ducky smiled. "No. You just make it very easy." His smile disappeared. "But Katelyn is right. You cannot sedate Jethro to force therapy on him. Not without his permission, at least," he followed with a shrug.

Kate gave Tony a 'I told you so' look. "Thank you, Ducky."

"Well, I'm open to suggestions!" Tony waved his arms in frustration.

"Just before you so easily snuck up on him," McGee couldn't help but give an amused look in Tony's direction, "he also mentioned putting Dr. Bergstrom outside Gibbs' cell and just seeing if she could get him to talk."

Ducky pondered that. "Now that may be a doable plan."

Tony gave his own smug look at the two agents. "Hah!"

"But what if Gibbs reacts violently?" Kate asked, choosing to ignore Tony's juvenile reaction.

"Well, he can't hurt the doctor—as long as he doesn't have anything to throw through the bars," Ducky clarified, remembering the night before. "But I would be concerned about him hurting himself somehow."

"That's why I suggested slipping him something."

"Which was overruled," Kate looked at Tony pointedly.

McGee's face brightened with an idea. "What if we put Gibbs in an interrogation room and handcuff him to the chair or table? He won't be able to get up."

"He'd still be able to move the furniture," Ducky brought up after thinking a few seconds. "They're not bolted down."

Tony raised a finger. "I can have maintenance bolt down the table and chair. They can also install a ring under the tabletop to attach handcuffs. Shouldn't take too long. One of the interrogation rooms should be situated like that for more dangerous suspects anyway."

Tony, Ducky and Tim all smiled at their brilliant idea, but Kate couldn't share their delight. "It just all sounds so cruel! I mean, this is Gibbs we're talking about. One of us!" She frowned even more deeply. "How would you like to be chained to a table and forced to do something against your will?"

Ducky came over and put his arm around Kate's shoulders. "None of us would like that. None of us _wants _to put Gibbs through it, either. But Gibbs needs help and if the only way to get him that help is to force it, then force it we must. Think of it as 'tough love', my dear."

Kate sighed and nodded her head. "I know and I understand. I just don't like it."

Ducky squeezed her shoulders. "Neither do I. But sometimes unpleasantness just comes with our jobs."

Each of them thought a moment of how true that was. They saw a lot of sadness and cruelty. It was something that couldn't be avoided in their chosen careers.

**ooooOOOoooo**

Ducky went downstairs to the morgue to tackle some overdue paperwork. Tony called the maintenance department and told them exactly what he wanted done. They said they could have it done in a couple of hours.

Meanwhile, Abby had taken Gibbs breakfast, which he'd only picked at and ate very little. He wouldn't speak to her and that saddened the sensitive woman. She relayed this when she spoke with Tony when he came to visit her. He did his best to console her, thinking that Gibbs would have done a much better job in the past. But for now, that duty fell on him.

Ducky received a phone call from Dr. Bergstrom telling him she'd reviewed everything and felt positive she could provide help for Agent Gibbs. She could not clear her morning sessions with patients, but could come in right after lunch. She was that anxious to begin. Ducky thought she sounded rather tired and realized she must have stayed up most of the night reviewing the material. He conveyed his appreciation and looked forward to seeing her.

Tim received a phone call from Kevin, the guard in holding. He said Gibbs had requested that the agents "get their damn questioning out of the way, so I could be taken back to Metro jail." Tim didn't need to see the quotation marks to know he was quoting Gibbs.

The agents and Ducky held another meeting. It was decided that Tony would question Gibbs first, then have a lunch break in the interrogation room. After Dr. Bergstrom arrived, they would let her do her job while they watched from the observation room.

**ooooOOOoooo**

Gibbs was brought to the renovated interrogation room later in the morning. Tony followed them in and watched the guard release a handcuff from around one of Gibbs' wrists and feed it through the ring, attaching it back to the same wrist.

Gibbs pulled on the offending cuffs and noticed how the table and chair were immovable. "What the hell is this?" He knew this was the same room he'd been in previously and that the security measures weren't there before.

Tony closed the door behind the guard as he left and sat down in the opposite chair, which was still movable. He laid a file down on the table in front of him. "New policy," he lied. "All prisoners requiring handcuffs need to be cuffed to the table." He really did dislike what they were doing, even though most of it was his idea. He knew Gibbs had to feel trapped and it would only get worse.

Gibbs' gut was telling him it was a line of bullshit, but decided it wasn't worth an argument. He just wanted this over and done with.

Tony opened the file and flipped to the right page. "All right." He sighed for dramatic effect. It was time for him to be an interrogator again, not a concerned friend. "Morning of April 13th. Tell me what happened with the two police officers in the alley in Arlington."

Gibbs remembered the incident well, even if his mind had been a bit foggy that first morning of freedom after having been drugged to sleep.

He may not have been feeling the extreme anger he'd felt last night, but there was just enough frustrated emotion left over to make him want to show that he did not regret his actions over those few days. This was in contrast to what he'd thought earlier, that he knew what he'd did was wrong. That it was his own actions that would put him behind bars for who knew how long. But there was a part of him, thanks to the assistance of one Jonathan Nesmith, that continued to rebel when he felt the desire to.

Relaxing lazily back into his chair, Gibbs cleared his throat. "That was where Jonathan had dumped me off. I woke up."

"Do you remember how you got there?" Tony interrupted.

"No, I was asleep!" Gibbs thought it was a dumb question. Of course he had to have been asleep to then wake up. When he noticed Tony was still waiting for something more reasonable he rolled his eyes and explained further. "Sometime during the night before he had me get dressed. He then gave me a shot of something that knocked me out. I woke up in the alley."

Tony looked down at the report to quickly read what would be coming up next. He pretty much expected Gibbs explanation to be the same. "Okay. Then what?"

Gibbs first remembered how good it felt to breath fresh air and the foreign feel of clothes and shoes on him. Then he thought of the actions of the two police officers and he became annoyed again. He happened to glance up and saw the red light glowing on the video camera in the corner. _Might as well make it worth their effort._

"There were several people sleeping in the alley. The two cops came in and one of them started poking them with his nightstick telling them to get up and get out. When they got to me the older, fat one —"

"Officer Mahoney." Tony filled in the name.

"Whatever." Gibbs really didn't care to know the cop's name. "He shoved his stick into my shoulder. I nudged it away and got up. He got pissed off and demanded my name and ID. All I could tell him was my name was John and I had no ID." Gibbs shrugged and smirked. "Well, that pissed him off even more. He none-too-gently stuck his baton into my gut. I told him what I was going to do with that baton if he didn't remove it. He thought that was enough to take a swing at my head with it. I blocked him and punched his face. The younger cop—"

"Officer Wilson."

"Who cares!" Gibbs almost shouted. "The other one came at me and I punched him in the gut then knocked him to the ground. The fat one looked like he was ready to kill me right there, so I dropped him on his ass and took off."

According to the report, Gibbs version was slightly different than the officers' statements. They reported he had been belligerent from the beginning and had attacked them with no provocation. Tony's first instinct was to believe Gibbs' version.

"Just so you know, Officer Mahoney's nose was broken." Tony informed him.

"Good!" was Gibbs' heart-felt response. "He asked for it. He was gonna put a dent in my head with that stick just cuz I couldn't give him a proper name."

Tony made a mental note to himself to have Detective Rhinehold look further into the incident and Mahoney's background.

"Tell me about the grounds keeper in Mitchell Park. Why did you hit him?"

Gibbs had to admit that he really didn't have a good reason for slugging the innocent man. "No good reason, other than being angry." His voice became softer as he tried to explain. "A few minutes before I had a run-in with a storekeeper. He'd called me a bum and told me the bench in front of his store wasn't for my use. It really made me mad that he thought I was a bum. I busted his broom in half and threatened him. I was still seeing red when I went into the park. I couldn't control myself. When he came up on me, I just wanted to punch him."

Tony knew that charge wasn't going to go away, though it was a misdemeanor. Out of curiosity he asked Gibbs what he had done for food during this time.

Gibbs shrugged, losing some of the steam he felt before. He hated to admit what he'd been forced to do. "Jonathan had given me a cell phone and a few bucks, but the money didn't last long. I either stole food or went hungry. Jonathan's whole idea was to see what lengths I would go to to take care of myself. He didn't think shoplifting was good enough."

"And he told you this when? After he picked you up to take you back to that farmhouse?"

"The next day." Gibbs nodded. "I'd slept in another alley that night and it was cold. I felt pretty sick the next morning and just walked around for a while trying to warm up. I'd fallen asleep in another park and woke up when he called the cell phone. He picked me up, asked what I'd been doing and gave his opinion on what I should have been doing." Gibbs remembered the anger and face slap he'd received from Jonathan. But then the doctor did an about-face and told him how well he'd done after hearing about the assaults. The man's behavior had always been like night and day, anger and calm, hard and soft.

Gibbs didn't want to think about that. He shook his head, clearing the thoughts away. "You know what happened after that."

Tony didn't feel the need to rehash the time around Jonathan's death. "Well, then let's fast-forward to the next day. You were driving Nesmith's Cherokee and were pulled over by the state highway patrol. What made you attack Officer Jenkins?"

Gibbs hmphed with humorless mirth. "Well, let's see… I'd just killed someone, was driving a stolen vehicle with no driver's license… Need I go on?"

The sarcasm wasn't lost on DiNozzo. It really just saddened him. "You realize it was all caught on his dash-cam? That's how the police got your description for the BOLO they had out on you."

He just shrugged. "Hope it caught my good side."

Tony slammed his fist down on the table. "Is this all just a joke to you?" This snarky side of Gibbs wasn't something he was used to. That was an answer he himself may have given in this situation, but not his stoic boss.

"Yeah! See me laughing?" Gibbs blue eyes burned. "Well, the joke's on me, isn't it? Because I'm totally screwed! Now can we get this over with?"

"Fine!" If Gibbs could dish out the sarcasm, so could Tony. "What the hell made you want to pick up a hooker? Cracking from a lack of shacking?" He could practically hear the gasps coming from the observation room. "Bet she was a redhead."

Angered, Gibbs tugged on his cuffs. "Yeah, she was a redhead. Great looking ass, too!"

"Too bad she was an undercover cop!"

Tony stopped himself before saying anything else out of frustration. Shaking his head and waving an arm as if shooing a fly away, he let out a heavy breath. "Look, let's just calm down a little. Just a little more and we're finished." He knew this to be true when he glanced at his watch and noted that it was a few minutes past noon.

"What else is there?" Gibbs sighed, wanting this done with.

"When the vice cops searched you, they found a knife with blood on it, a 9mm Glock and over $2000. Wanna tell how you got them and whose blood was on the knife?"

_Oh that. Definitely screwed! _"Needed cash for the hooker cop lady. I got the knife off Jonathan's body. Used it to mug a drug dealer when I saw the wad of cash he had. Got the gun from him, too; and the blood was his."

Tony looked up sharply. "Don't tell me there's another body somewhere!"

"No." Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Just scratched his neck a little. Maybe smashed his face against a brick wall, too." He looked away as he said this.

Tony looked relieved, knowing the unknown drug dealer wasn't about to press charges. "Did you use the gun or knife in any other crimes?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Nope. The cops had me in custody thirty minutes later."

Tony closed the file on the table in front of himself and wondered how the hell he could fix it so his mentor could avoid jail time. He felt his body tense in anger at how much trouble Gibbs was in and who was responsible for it.

"We're done," he stated, standing up stiffly.

"Taking me back to jail now, finally?" Gibbs asked expectantly.

"After lunch." Tony didn't meet his eyes. "Abby'll get you something better than a crappy bologna sandwich and stale chips. You can eat in here. No need for you to go back to the holding cell."

Gibbs leaned back in his chair in resignation at being stuck there for a little while longer.

Tony closed the door behind him as he stepped into the hallway. He leaned tiredly against the wall as Tim and Kate joined him from the observation room.

_"Cracking from a lack of shacking?" _Kate mimicked.

"He certainly brings out the best in me sometimes," Tony jibed.

"He's really got an uphill battle facing him," Tim stated, though it was obvious to them all. "Think the DA and judge will take Nesmith's actions against Gibbs into account?"

"They'd have to," Tony answered with some uncertainty. "Might help if I get down on my knees and beg."

Certainly aware of the fact that their interrogation was the easy part of their plan, the three agents couldn't help but wonder about Gibbs reactions when Dr. Bergstrom started on him.

TBC

**Hope you liked it. The last third of this was done with a cloudy brain induced by Robitussin. Forgive me if it wavers or seems weird. LOL.**


	22. Chapter 22

**Fading Away**

By SherryGabs

Rated: T

**Wow! I can't believe how much time has passed since my last posting. Tempus fugit!**

**Warning: There will be pretty bad language and some self-harm in this chapter. Shouldn't be too extreme, though.**

**Chapter 22**

Dr. Bergstrom arrived at the NCIS security checkpoint at 1:10 pm. Ducky, Abby, and the three special agents were quietly finishing up sandwiches in the bullpen. When security called Tony's phone to inform them of their guest, Ducky quickly swallowed his last bite and wiped crumbs from his mouth and shirtfront.

"I'll go escort the doctor up," he offered quickly, straightening his bowtie before walking, rather spritely for his age, to the elevator.

"I don't think I've ever seen Ducky volunteer that quick for anything," Kate observed with a smile.

"I think the doctor has the hots for the doctor," Abby added with a gleam in her green eyes. She pulled up on her kneesocks before hopping down off Tim's desk. "I hope everything goes okay." Her eyes dimmed a little. "You'll let me know what happens, right?"

"Of course I will, Abby," Tony reassured her. His phone rang once again and he turned to pick it up.

She sighed and turned to go down to her lab. As much as she loved Gibbs and worried about him, she had no desire to watch him and the doctor do whatever it is they were going to do. She already felt guilty for not staying to have lunch with him. She hadn't been able to look him in the eye, knowing what was planned for him, and had been too afraid she'd spill the beans if she dared stay in the interrogation room. So, sitting his lunch on the table in front of him, she mumbled something about having work to do and quickly left.

Abby felt awful, but knew if she watched the psychologist do her thing with Gibbs, she would probably break down.

"Damn!" Tony cursed after slamming his phone down.

"Who was it?" Tim asked.

"The director." Tony threw his trash in his wastebasket in anger. "The District Attorney's office called him to check on our investigation. Once they found out Gibbs' kidnapper was found, they had to insist Gibbs be brought back. Director Morrow talked them into waiting a few hours. We're to drop him off as soon as we're done here this afternoon. He's going to see about getting Gibbs a lawyer."

"Well, it had to happen sooner or later," Kate's voiced with dejection.

"Yeah, just wish it was later rather than sooner." Tony's face fell somber as he thought of what was going to happen. "Gibbs will definitely be _more _than happy to go."

Kate looked at him with concern. "Still think we're doing the right thing?"

The elevator dinged and the two doctors stepped out, walking towards them, chatting amicably.

"Yeah, I do." Tony watched them approach with more than a little apprehension. "Anyways, it's too late to back out now."

"Sandra, you remember Agents McGee, Todd, and DiNozzo?" Ducky asked politely, signaling each with his hand.

"Yes, of course, Ducky." Dr. Bergstrom smiled at the agents who smiled back as nicely as their worries allowed them. They didn't miss the fact that the doctors were now on a first name basis.

"As I was just telling Ducky," she began, getting down to business. "I think I can get Agent Gibbs' memory functions back within a matter of several minutes."

"That quick?" Tim asked in surprise, then looked embarrassed at his excited outburst in front of the doctor.

"After reading through Jonathan's journals and the drugs he used, I don't think the drugs had as much to do with the memory loss as we were led to think. I think Jonathan put up a mental block. One that would cause Agent Gibbs pain if he tries to remember; only the pain is more mental than physical. If I can talk him through that pain, make him believe that he _can _get over it, he'll remember."

"You're sure about this?" Kate asked.

"Yes, I am," Dr. Bergstrom said firmly. "I've seen Jonathan play with this subject matter previously. He seems to have mastered it."

"What about the antisocial behavior?" Ducky was quite curious to know if this could be overcome.

Sandra shook her head. "That's not going to be so easily fixed. Definitely not in one afternoon. It may come down to regular sessions, along with medications to stabilize his moods and behaviors."

Tony cringed. "That's going to be a problem."

"How so?" She thought she knew, but wanted to be certain she knew everything.

"Well," Tony began hesitantly, "he not only dislikes having to take medications; he's not the type that likes psychologists or psychiatrists to begin with. Doesn't really trust them-especially not now. And he's facing criminal charges that could very well send him to jail for a while."

She nodded her head. "Yes, I understand that. If need be, I can see him in the jail setting."

"He probably won't agree to that," Ducky added with certainty. "He's a very stubborn man and does not like to talk about himself, no matter if someone is only trying to help him."

"It can be ordered by the judge, then he won't have a choice." Dr. Bergstrom could see the effect her words on the others, whose expressions were rather obvious, so she added, "I know that sounds blunt, but Agent Gibbs is going to need to help getting back to who he was before. Professional help. He won't be able to do it alone."

"Yes, we do realize that." Ducky sounded so sad. "It's just so frustrating, knowing he didn't ask for any of this to happen. He's had everything taken from him and is being forced to do something he doesn't want again. It's going to be very hard on him."

"I understand, Ducky," she reassured with a look to each of their eyes. "But isn't it just as hard on him as he is now?"

The four looked at each other and silently nodded their heads in agreement.

"Okay, then. Shall we get started?"

**ooooOOOoooo**

Before Tony could open the door to the interrogation room for Dr. Bergstrom, she put her hand over his on the doorknob.

"Before I go in there I need to warn you all."

Tony released the knob and glared at the doctor. "What do you mean?"

She included all of them in her look. "You may not like everything you're going to see or hear," she began, knowing the three agents and medical examiner would be observing from the next room. "He is going to go through extreme pain for several minutes. He may even become ill from it. I want your promises that you will _not _interfere. That none of you will be overcome by compassion and try to stop this.

"At first he is going to fight me for all he is worth. He will most likely become violent and say appalling things that you have never heard come from his mouth before. He may even injure himself trying to break free of the restraints. I plan on being as hard as I have to be. I have to _force_ him to get his memories back. By the time I'm finished here today you may think I'm the most cold-blooded bitch on the planet, but that's the way it has to be. Am I clear on this? Do I have your assurances that there will be no interference?" She looked each one of them in the eye, her tone guaranteeing no letting up on her position.

The four looked at each other, wondering how they would be able to just stand by and watch their boss go through this torture. It would be heartbreaking, but each knew this was the way it would have to go down. They could only pray for forgiveness afterwards, knowing Gibbs would probably hate them for putting him through it.

Each nodded in compliance and mumbled their promises.

"You will have no interference from any of us," Ducky assured her.

"Good," she smiled grimly. "One more thing… I consider Agent Gibbs to be my patient so, therefore, doctor/patient privileges are to be honored. I know I can't stop you four from watching, but I must insist that nothing be videotaped or recorded."

"Not a problem," Tony told her.

"Okay, then." She took a deep breath. "I'll go see what I can do."

**ooooOOOoooo**

Gibbs' gut was telling him something was up. The way Abby avoided his eyes and left so abruptly, not staying and eating with him like she had been doing. The guard had uncuffed his right hand to allow him to eat, but as soon as he was finished, came back and relocked it. Why would he have done that if they were taking him back to jail right away? He hadn't shown any kind of resistance to warrant that.

His thoughts and gut churned more as the silent moments went by. He wondered of reasons for the delay, all coming back to one that had him more scared than he cared to admit. _They wouldn't force her on me, would they?_

That thought was slammed home as the door opened and an unfamiliar woman walked into the room. She took the chair opposite him, put her briefcase down on the floor next to the chair and rested her arms on the table as she looked at him.

"Agent Gibbs."

"Who the hell are you?" he asked harshly, feeling he knew the answer.

"I'm Dr. Sandra Bergstrom." She kept her voice pleasant, despite Gibbs' brashness. "I'm here to help you."

"I don't need your help! I already told them I wasn't going to talk to you, so you can just get up and get out."

She shook her head. "Sorry, can't do that. Do you mind if I call you Jethro?"

"Yes, I mind! Get out!" 

Ignoring his words, she cut to the chase. "I want to help you get your memories back."

"No!" He yanked hard on his cuffs to emphasize his point.

"Yes!" she returned just as loudly. "Or would you rather live in confusion? Not knowing who you are, who your family and friends are. Would you rather have headaches day in and day out for who knows how long? Or is it you _like_ the sympathy everyone is showing you? You like wallowing in your own little pity party?" She knew the words would anger him and they did.

"Fuck you!" he raged, his face reddening. "I don't need or want their sympathy. I just want everyone to leave me the hell alone! The memories will come back in their own time."

"You don't know that. They might, or they might not come back completely. You see, _Jethro_," she emphasized his name purposely, letting him know who was in charge. "Jonathan put up a mental block on your memories. _Maybe_ one of his drugs might have helped the process, but I doubt it. He did put in your mind that you would feel pain whenever you tried to remember your past. I want to help you get past that block."

"Just leave me the _hell _alone! I'd rather _not _remember than have you getting inside my head. You're no better or different than _he _was!"

She laughed. "Oh, I am very different than Jonathan was. Granted, we worked together for a time, but that kind of work was not for me and I got out. Jonathan had his own agenda. I don't plan on getting _inside _your head, as you put it, the way he did. I have no intentions of damaging you like he did. I just want to repair the damage he caused."

"You can't fix me, bitch, because I don't need fixed. All I need is time and I have plenty of that." Gibbs yanked hard on his cuffs, using the strength of his legs to try and pull himself free of the table. He glared at the mirrored window to the observation room. "DiNozzo, you bastard! I know you're in there. Mallard, too. You better hope I never get my hands on either of you! I told you I didn't want any of this shit!"

The betrayal was obvious in his angered voice. The two men watching looked at each other nervously.

"They're only trying to help," Sandra told him. "Your friends went to great lengths to do this for you."

"Some friends!"

"They are!" The doctor's voice was stern. "More than Jonathan made himself out to be, I bet."

Gibbs looked up sharply. "What?"

She needed to get to the point of her being there. She had read the journals and knew the persuasion Jonathan had used on Gibbs.

"You remember, don't you? Jonathan convinced you that _he _was your only friend. The only one who cared about you."

Gibbs shook his head in denial of her words. But as much as he didn't want to admit it, Jonathan had indeed made him believe that.

"Yes, he did," she continued. "Just as he made you forget who you were, what you were and who you knew. I bet there's still a doubt somewhere in your mind that your name isn't actually John."

"Just shut the hell up! I know what my name is."

"Really? Well, what about your birthday? Your address, phone number? Where's your hometown?" She was drilling the questions quickly. "Answer me, Jethro! What state were you born in?"

Gibbs shook his head, trying to think back, trying to remember, just to shut her up. But the answer just wasn't there.

"Try, Jethro! It's a simple question. If you remember that one little fact, it will make the rest come back much easier."

"Bullshit!" He knew if he tried to remember the pain would soon become overwhelming. "It hurts too damn much to try!"

"Yes, it does. And it will get worse." She knew it was time to convince him that the pain was a hurdle he needed to overcome. "When Jonathan had you at your most vulnerable, he put up a mental block on your memories. I know you don't realize it, but he convinced you that trying to remember would cause extreme pain. This was to dissuade you from trying to remember. He didn't _want _you to remember that you were a federal agent who could put him in prison. He didn't want you to remember you had people here who cared about what happened to you. You have to ride out the pain. You have to let it wash over you and overtake you. You may feel like you're going to die, but believe me, you won't."

"Why the fuck should I believe you?" Gibbs yelled.

"I have seen what Jonathan Nesmith has done to people." Sandra slammed her hand down on the table. "He was a master manipulator. He manipulated _you_! He tortured you into believing everything he said. He didn't give you a choice but to believe everything he said. With my help you can get past that. I am on_ your_ side."

Gibbs was angry and confused. Half of him wanted to just break free and break out of the suffocating room. The other half wanted to believe that she could help him remember. Help him make sense of the jumbled pictures that made his head want to explode the more he tried to make sense of them on his own. But he was a stubborn man when it came to self-preservation. He didn't want to believe her and he didn't want to deal with the pain.

He shook his head. "I can't!"

"Yes, you can!" she emphasized strongly. "I know you've been told, and you believe, you are a federal agent and you have three agents working under you. What are their names?" She knew this would be an easy question to start with and build on.

Gibbs looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head. At least this one he felt he could answer. "They said their names were DiNozzo, Todd, and McGee."

"You know this to be true because you have no reason not to believe it," the doctor stated.

Gibbs blew out an exasperated breath. "Sure! What of it?" He gave her an impatient look.

"How did you first meet Agent McGee?"

She really had no idea herself how they'd met, but that didn't matter as long as he tried to remember. When she received only a blank, frustrated look from Gibbs, she tried to help him.

"Was he part of the Navy? Did you meet on a ship? Was he part of an investigation? Think, Jethro!"

The last question triggered something in his mind. He looked off to the side, his eyes and mouth creased in concentration. His first picture was of the young man sitting at a desk typing on a keyboard, then pointing a remote at a large TV screen. He tried to think back further, knowing the first meeting had to have come before that.

In the observation room, all eyes turned to McGee, who stared at his boss willing him to remember Norfolk. They returned their view back to the interrogation room, sending their own vibes of hope.

More flashes. A submarine, a whale tattoo. His face scrunched in pain before he moaned and suddenly muttered, "Pumpkin ice cream."

Ducky, Tony, and Tim all showed surprise at the unusual term. "Pumpkin ice cream?" Tony asked, sounding confused.

Kate explained. "When they emptied the sub's galley freezer to make room for the body, they had to get rid of the ice cream. We had several bowls to choose from. One of them was pumpkin; the captain's favorite." She smiled warmly, happy for that memory.

"Keep going," Sandra urged Gibbs. "Talk the memories through with me. Try to remember the first time you met him."

The harder he thought, the more his head hurt. "Emergency blow. Kate pressed up against me."

Tony's eyes widened and he looked at Kate thinking the dirtiest possible scenario.

She looked back, very flustered that Gibbs would remember that and choose to word it that way. "Emergency blow is when the sub has to resurface quickly. It goes up at a steep angle and I fell against Gibbs. That's what he means!" she explained frantically.

"Uh-huh. Sure." Of course, Tony knew what an emergency blow was, but had to pick on Kate about it.

She punched his shoulder. "Shut up and get your mind out of the gutter!"

Ducky was getting annoyed at the childish banter, considering what his friend was going through in the other room. "Why don't both of you shut up and save that for later!"

Both agents looked surprised at the uncommon anger coming from the usually calm Ducky and shamefully brought their attention back to where it should be.

Ducky felt bad about the outburst, but the seriousness of the situation had him on edge. If it were any other time, he would have laughed. But now was not the time.

Gibbs moaned again as the pain worsened. The worse the pain got the harder the memories came. "A body, burned bad by acid. On a navy base." He groaned as what felt like an ice pick going through his forehead. He kept trying, but the pain was becoming incapacitating. He finally shook his head. "No more."

"You have to keep going!" Sandra emphasized strongly. "I know the pain is bad, but you have to ride through it. Try breathing deeply."

He did try, but it sounded more like hyperventilating. "No!" He began yanking hard on the handcuffs again, wanting desperately to get free. "No more!"

"You were doing fine," she insisted. "Try again. What happened on the navy base? Is that where you met Agent McGee?"

Gibbs did try, but the pain was too intense. He began panicking, angrily and forcefully trying to pull his hands free. "Just fucking leave me alone, you damn bitch!" A particularly vicious yank tore the skin on his right wrist. "It hurts too damn much!"

"I know it hurts! It has to hurt!" she yelled. "Keep trying!"

Gibbs was in a full-blown panic attack, fueled by rage and pain. The skin on the left wrist was now torn and bleeding as well as the right. He rammed his left thumb into the table edge, successfully dislocating it in hope of slipping from the cuffs, but they were too tight.

He brought his right leg up and used it to try and push himself away from the table, viciously pulling on the unweilding cuffs, tearing the skin even more. To him, the woman sitting across from him might as well have been the devil. "Fucking whore! Goddamn bitch! You're dead! Fucking dead!"

"Oh, my God!" Kate covered her mouth in shock and horror seeing what was happening. She'd never heard Gibbs use that kind of language towards anyone and it shocked her. Not only that, but he was hurting himself trying to break free. This whole setup in the interrogation room was to help prevent that.

"Ducky, we gotta stop this!" Tony turned towards the door, but Ducky's strong grip on his arm stopped him.

"We can't!" Ducky was terrified himself, assessing the damage Gibbs was doing to himself and what else he could possibly do. "She told us not to interfere, no matter what. We all agreed."

"I know, but…" Tony hated seeing Gibbs doing that to himself, knowing he was the mastermind behind the whole thing. The guilt was eating at him.

Tim's eyes were watering, feeling awful that it was the memories of him that were causing Gibbs to self-destruct. He also wanted to bust into the interrogation room and stop this from happening, thinking there had to be a better way. But he kept himself rooted to the spot, knowing Ducky was right. He balled his hands into fists and let his fingernails dig in.

Dr. Bergstrom herself was feeling no small amount of fear and worry, but she couldn't let it show. She had to remain strong. She couldn't let his hurtful words, threats or harm he was doing to himself overcome her professionalism.

"Where was the naval base?" She did her best to keep her voice from wavering.

"Oh, God!" Gibbs shuddered in pain. The pain in his wrists and hands was taking his mind off the pain in his head somewhat. He was tiring of the fight and momentarily laid his head down on the tabletop. A clear vision of the naval base came to mind.

"Norfolk," he gasped.

Sandra hadn't expected him to give an answer so suddenly. She leapt at a new question.

"What did Agent McGee have to do with the body found at Norfolk Naval Base?"

The pain in his head became blinding. He still had his forehead down on the tabletop as he shook it back and forth. Nausea gripped his stomach and he paled to a sickly greenish-white. He moaned desperately trying to quell the nausea and the white-hot pain in his head. He wanted it to stop.

He did it so quick, Sandra had no time to react to stop him.

Gibbs lifted his head and screamed. Then slammed his head down onto the hard table. He didn't even register the pain before he raised up and brought it down again.

The doctor quickly stood up, not knowing if she should get closer to check him or if he was playing possum when he didn't move again.

Kate practically screamed and Ducky almost ran from the room himself to check on Gibbs' condition. Tim and Tony were ready to bolt themselves.

Dr. Bergstrom was about to approach Gibbs when she heard his moan and he raised his head slightly. She could see how pale he was and knew he was going to vomit. She went to the corner of the room and grabbed the wastebasket, bringing it to him just in time.

Gibbs moaned loudly again as she quickly guided his head over the wastebasket. He spent a long moment losing everything he'd eaten that day until there was nothing left.

Shivering, Gibbs wiped his mouth on his sleeve and laid his head down again. He was exhausted and sat still that way for a long moment. Dr. Bergstrom, not caring for her own safety and feeling comforting him was more important, gently rubbed his upper back.

A heavy silence filled the room and she almost jumped when he suddenly spoke.

"Agent McGee was the first agent to respond to the body found in the navy yard. He called us to investigate."

The words were quiet, shuddered, but heaven to the doctor's ears.

"Then what?"

"He helped in the investigation, working with Tony while Kate and I boarded the submarine the sailor was supposed to be on. We found out the guy who took his place wanted to spread a deadly gas throughout the sub killing everyone. He was some kind of a whale-loving freak."

Gibbs shakily raised his head up, sitting back in the chair. He felt dizzy, but the memory was clear. "McGee did a great job for a newbie."

Sandra smiled and looked through the mirrored window. It had worked!

Ducky's smile was watery. Tony and Tim breathed a sigh of relief while Kate openly cried.

Dr. Bergstrom squeezed Gibbs' shoulder. "How's your head?"

Gibbs pulled away from her hand and rubbed his forehead, wincing. "Hurts like hell and I'm dizzy."

She noticed the brush off, but didn't dwell on it, knowing there would still be some anger after having forced him through hell. She retook her seat.

"Hopefully you didn't concuss yourself hitting your head like that."

Gibbs shrugged and looked down at the blood still seeping from his wrists, dripping down onto his pants. He looked confused, as if wondering how that had happened.

"I just need to ask a few more questions for now."

Gibbs was tired of questions, tired of talking, tired of pain. He shook his head. "I'm not feeling too good right now."

"I know, but you'll notice the pain in your head has probably been reduced tremendously."

He only sighed.

"How did you meet Kate Todd?"

He winced again at the pain that was now registering in his wrists and hands, on top of the pain caused by the head slams. But it wasn't the same head pain that he'd had while trying to remember. He hoped answering would just end this interview quickly.

"She was a secret service agent on Air Force One. A football carrier was poisoned in an attempt to get to the President. In the end, she had to resign and I offered her a job with NCIS."

"And Agent DiNozzo?"

He sighed in frustration again. "He was a detective with the Baltimore Police Department. We had to work on a case together. I was impressed with his abilities and offered him a job, too."

"You must have impressed them also for them to want to work with you."

He didn't say anything for a moment, thinking. "You'd have to ask them. Working for me wouldn't be easy."

"I don't doubt that," Sandra smiled. She asked him a few more questions to test his memory, such as his address, if he remembered his duties as an agent, his duties as a marine. Satisfied with the answers, she asked again how his head felt.

Surprisingly, there was no lingering pain from recalling memories. But he sure regretted slamming his forehead on the table, feeling for sure it was going to bruise badly.

"I'll live."

Her next comment was expected to meet with a bit of hostility, so she was prepared.

"You realize, of course, that this is just the beginning. You and I will have to meet on a regular basis to get through the violent programming he instilled in you. You will most likely need medications to stabilize your behaviors and moods, at least for a while. You also need to talk about what happened during your time with Jonathan. What he did to you."

He was about to retort, the anger already showing plainly in his features. She raised her hand to stop his words before they could come out.

"You really don't have a choice in the matter. You have to get his treatment of you out in the open. And you can't live the rest of your life as you have been recently. You're supposed to be a crime fighter, not a criminal."

"I can control it. I can—"

"No, you can't," she interrupted gently. "The impulse to just react to a bad situation with anger and violence instead of calmness is not something you're going to control on your own. The impulse to take what you want instead of earning it will be there every day."

"Bullshit!" Gibbs insisted, pulling yet again on the bloody handcuffs. He instantly regretted the action as the pain seared up again. The dislocated thumb and the pad below it were now swollen, as well as his wrists. The cuffs were too damn tight.

"Tell me something," Dr. Bergstrom urged him. "I can tell you're still very pissed with me. What about Ducky? What about your agents? It was their idea to chain you to this table. It was their idea to force my therapy on you. We all felt that putting you through this pain was the best thing for you no matter what you thought. They were on the other side of that mirror watching the whole thing and never tried to help you. _Truthfully_, what would you like to do to them right now?"

He didn't need to think long for an answer. "_Truthfully, _I'd like to bash their skulls together so they can feel a little bit of what I've been feeling!" He didn't miss her look of satisfaction. "But I don't seem to be in the position to do that at the moment, so I guess they're safe for now."

"Safe enough to allow Ducky to fix you up? Or should I give you something to calm you for a little while?"

He wasn't going to let her come anywhere near him with a needle. "I'll behave." He gave her a smug smirk.

She had to laugh at his cheekiness. "I understand you'll be arraigned very soon. When I find out what your situation is after that and where you'll be, we'll set up regular sessions." She stood up, picking up her briefcase. "We're going to get to know each other very well, Jethro. I look forward to the challenge." She gave her own cheeky smirk before turning and leaving the room.

"We'll see about that," Gibbs muttered behind her back.

TBC

**I decided to end this part here since it was getting kind of long. Hope I didn't go too far with the coarseness and grossness, and I hope it meets with your satisfaction. Let me know, please.**


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